


kismet

by inabsolutes



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: @ me it’s fine, Age Difference, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, B.O.B (Back On My Bullshit), Crown Tundra! Update, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heroes to Villains, I’m A Slut for Feedback, I’m Back Baby, Macro Cosmos! Leon, Other, Slow Burn, Yandere!Leon is Yandandy in Japanese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 78,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabsolutes/pseuds/inabsolutes
Summary: kismet (noun): lit. fate, destinyThe black flames of an inescapable destiny that consumed all in its path.A tale in which an obsessive, destructive love nearly brings the Galar Champion to his knees, and the world at your feet.[macro cosmos!leon x female MC]
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Reader, Nezu | Piers (Pokemon)/Reader, Rose | Chairman Rose/Reader
Comments: 235
Kudos: 772





	1. Destiny’s Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It didn’t have to be this bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Foreword:
> 
> Yo, Poké-people! A few notes before you start reading. Gloria (MC) is the point of view character in this story, but it will be written from a reader point of view. 
> 
> Note: This is definitely canon divergent, so only some plot elements may return from SWSH. Bearing that in mind, _I owe you no garden of roses._
> 
> This story is rife with alternate character interpretation, graphic violence, sex, non-consensual situations, and mentions of underage/abusive romantic and sexual relationships. 
> 
> If any of that bothers you, PLEASE do not read this. I’m not saying this to be coy, but as a warning shot across the bow for the content within. 
> 
> Didn’t scare you away? Let’s be off, then!

* * *

  
Once upon a time, there was a woman who let loose the greatest evil to ever befall mankind. 

That evil was called  _hope_ , and that woman’s name was  your own.

Rose Tower had taught you why hope was the greatest evil inside of Pandora’s box.

The tale of Pandora’s box details an ancient story of a woman who came in possession of an old box, which held all of the evils that could ever befall mankind. Long story short, the woman, being foolish, opened the box, unleashing all of the evils, banes and plagues inside, releasing them on humanity.  


That included hope.

A common question asked is: why would hope be considered an evil to be locked away in the box in the first place? 

Because hope has power. 

Hope has a power like few other things in this world.

It can make you do regretful things, and justify terrible actions, all for its own sake.

All for hope.

Life is full of terrible falls, but the most dangerous falls are the ones that happen when we let hope take us to even an even greater height of expectation. Falls from these heights can be deadly, even devastating.

A young woman folds her hands across her lap in the shotgun seat of a car. She looks down. “So...”

You look up and murmur:

“Why can’t I stop myself from being dragged up there by hope, even knowing that...?”

“Maybe it’s best you start from the beginning,” an older man replies, plucking on a guitar string absentmindedly as he drives down Route 10. His voice, normally high with good cheer, is hoarse from shouting. “All good songs have a beginning, don’t they?”

The man sitting beside you now in the old run-down buggy is Marnie’s older brother. His dark hair, normally wild and untidy, is now completely disheveled, having come loose from his ponytail. Some of the ends have been singed and burnt away. 

“I don’t know if I can,” you say softly, taking a wilted rose from your hair. The outer petals are curled up and shriveled from exposure to the blistering sunlight. 

You let the petals loose into thesky above you, a flurry of crimson red amidst a cold and pale blue.

He doesn’t look up at the sight, choosing instead to keep driving. “It’s your choice, Gloria. Check on my little sis in the back, will you?”

You twist in your seat to look back at the buggy’s passenger seating. The young woman is curled up with her scabbed knees to her chest in a semi-fetal position, a thin blanket covering her body. Her morpeko dozes alongside her, nestled in her arms. “Marnie’s asleep.”

Her older brother laughs. “Figured after Marnie reamed you out that she’d go right to bed. Bet she’s out cold, too.”

He waves a hand in the driver’s rearview mirror. His sister stirs but does little else. His aqua-blue eyes glittering with mischief, he shouts:

“Oi, Marn, Bon Jovi sucks eggs! He’s one of the most  overrated guitarists from the Glam Rock era! You hear me?”

A skipped beat of silence. Her high-pitched voice then slurs,  _prrrsshuddup,_ and her little head falls onto the headrest. A thin trickle of drool comes out of her mouth proving her reaction to her older brother’s remark was only a reflex. She’s lost in dreamland.

He laughs, then returns his attention to the road ahead. Little flurries of snow kick up in the grass to your left and right. “See? She won’t wake up unless...”

He pauses.

_Unless Wyndon burns down._

Thinking better of making the analogy, he says, “Anyways, I wanted to hear about that story of yours. Maybe you can teach me a magic trick or two along the way, how about that?”

You haven’t done magic in a long time, and tell him so. A memory of yours starts and stops again, like the film to an old VHS tape. 

_“I will do ANYTHING to—“_

You squeeze your eyes closed, shutting the doors of your mind on the memory. Looking down at your lap, on top of the burnt tatters of your ceremonial dress, the texts on your cracked Y-COMM read:

Leon  
  
  
**Yesterday** X:XX PM  
Hello?  
Gloria?  
Are you going to answer me?  
Please answer me.   
I’m so sorry.  
**Today** X:XX AM  
I’m gutted that this is the way things turned out.  
Blast, will you... just send me a text so I know you’re alive?  
And there I go again... I’m sorry.  
All I could ever ask of you would be to come back to me.   
  


Piers frowns, looking from you to the frozen display. “What’d I say about the phone?”

 _No communication to the outside world._ You wince and put the device away. “Sorry.”

The man then whistles through his teeth. “‘Sall right. Anyways, I’ve got some time to kill, it’ll be bloody ages before we get to Spikemuth.” He tap-tap-taps his fingertips on the steering wheel to an imagined drum beat. “Unless you want to keep listenin’ to the radio?”

You strain your ears to pick up the woman’s voice. In-between the poor reception, the low drone of the malfunctioning radio, and the shrieking wind, it’s hard to hear her voice. Then again, you’re surprised anything in this car is working at all.

> DJ NEO BUENA:  Eyewitnesses in Galar’s capital... told local news that the fire was racing through the city and power lines, setting homes ablaze and forcing residents to flee. Champion Leon aided relief efforts in an attempt to contain the wildfire, but the current amount of survivors is unknown at this time.  
> 
> 
> Nevertheless, Chairman Rose has ensured that the citizens of Wyndon that they are safe in their houses and encourages everyone to stay calm.

Another bit of heavy, noisy silence. Then a man’s voice.

> RADIO PERSONALITY: And that’s it...for NEO Buena’s breaking coverage of the raging wildfire that’s engulfed half of the Wyndon countryside. Now, for a few words from _the world champion,_ whose feats of daring heroism during the crisis won’t soon be forgotten...

The Spikemuth gym leader’s eyes glance over to you. Your hands are trembling against your neck, the place where your silver necklace once rested against your collarbones now conspicuously empty.

As the car ambles and sputters down the snow covered path, the wind roars, slow and hoarse and it sounds a little like Leon’s voice.

_ I will do ANYTHING to bring you back— _

After waiting for a few moments for your reply, you watch Marnie’s brother turn the radio dial away from the news station. Burns and shards of glass have left discolored marks on his fingers. “Don’t think you wanna hear that. Why don’t you give that song a go?”

You manage a smile. “I don’t know if it’s a good one.”

The older man remarks, “Try me. I have good ears, so I’m a good listener.”

Piers sighs. Windshield wipers move back and forth in a jerky, half-waving motion across the remains of the car’s shattered windshield.

“Besides... Doesn’t ‘tall matter if it’s yours, innit?”

_ Yes, that’s right. _

It is your story, a twisted and macabre fairytale in progress.

And you had every right to tell it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments
> 
> 1\. Pandora: A unfortunate young woman from Greek mythology who unleashed all of the ills of society on the world by opening a cursed box.
> 
> 2\. NEO Buena: a reference to the telecaster Buena from the Johto region. She seems to have picked up radio broadcasting in the Galar region as well.


	2. Pennies in Front of a Steamroller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _An angel whose halo is held up by her horns._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...

* * *

“Pfft! Haha haha!”

“Did you see?”

“What? See what?”

A young man bends over and cocks a smirk. “How much you got today, Gloria?”

“That’s mean. She was just being nice to him.”

“I don’t know, enough to pay for...”

“...drinks tonight?!” you laugh, putting a tenner on the table.

The young man, Oliver (but everyone called him Ollie), gives her a knowing glance. A female coworker named Isla asks you, “How do you do it?”

“Easy.”

 _Lunch service starts in 10 minutes, look alive,_ the chef yells from the back of the kitchen. 

“It’s magic,” you say over your shoulder.

_After all, it’s not like acts of magic are hard for Gloria, Galar’s finest magician.  
  
_

* * *

  
Okay. Maybe _acts of magic_ is a little bit of an overstatement. 

But what could you call it when you got something from nothing? Magic seemed the only appropriate term to call it.

“Magic? Is _that_ what you’re calling it now?” Ollie scoffs in between orders.

“Well, it’s a special kind of magic.” you say. 

Isla frowns. “Special kind of... How can we compete with that?”

“Pssht. Your magic only works if the person isn’t paying attention.”

“That’s true...”  
  
“Then, when they’re sufficiently distracted, I’ll make their precious jewelry and belongings _disappear!”_ you say, dangling Ollie’s wallet in front of him. He snatches it back from you. 

“Not funny, Gloria.”

See? Magic.

“And how do you do that?”

“The art of distraction.”

_Mostly by flirting with them._

Yesterday evening, there had been a mass outpouring of people to the restaurant, after a new Pokémon League Championship tournament had been announced. 

Crowded restaurants are where you worked your magic best.

After adjusting your makeup, you pictured your victim:

_Positive cashflow. Unhappy older chap. Expensive clothes. Drinking after work hours. Ding ding ding._

Magic words to people like you.  
A man fitting just that description had stumbled in. You coyly ask him, “Tough day at work?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I must smell like depression. I totally thought that I’d get a League sponsorship by now.”

_Nah. Smells like opportunity.  
_

You fawned on him a bit. _Oh, I’m so sorry, that’s too bad, can I get you anything to make you feel better?_

He sighed. “Just a stiff drink.”

As the trainer sat there moping, knocking back shot after shot, you actually felt bad for the poor man. How long had you sat there, after hours, doing the very same thing?

“I understand how you feel,” you say, taking a seat next to him. “Everyone wants to make it big.”

”Yeah...”

 _“But it’s not_ like _you’d_ have a problem getting a sponsorship.” he puts a hand on your bare thigh. “The gym leaders must be handing out sponsorships to pretty girls like candy!”

You scowled. Typical chav, thinking that because you were a girl you had it _made_.

Your compassion for him then vanished, and soon after, his wallet and the bills inside it. 

You didn’t feel too bad. At this point in your life, you made your living from performing magic tricks at the various restaurants you work at, including the Captain’s Table, a posh seafood restaurant located in the old village town of Stow-on-Side. Pretty or not, gym leaders weren’t in the habit of sponsoring you if they didn’t like the cut of your jib.

You doubted anyone worth much look kindly on a street magician. Your coworkers tolerated you because your magic tricks in one day filled up the tip jar more than they could in a week.

But today’s a slow day. People were tired from yesterday evening’s excitement, and not many people wanted to dine and watch reruns of the International Championship final match at Wyndon Stadium, when there was another competition just around the corner.

It’d be a chilly day in Alola before you’d get a chance to compete. 

Just before you think you’re about to be bored to tears, Ollie points out a group of people who had escaped your notice. “Yo, Gloria. 2 o’clock.”

The group is made up of three people: an older man with a swarthy complexion, a stylish younger woman, and a young boy. 

“You can take their orders.” he yawns. 

You eye their reflection in your compact. “Fine with me.” After adjusting your makeup, you sit up straight and smooth out the wrinkles on your apron. _Time to turn on the charm._

You lead them to their seats with a smile while also watching them with keen eyes. The olive-skinned man wears a bright blue polo shirt, dotted with black palm trees, and his gold watch gleams in the afternoon sun. His companion, a stately woman in her late twenties, is slender and reed-like, her face is sharp and unwelcoming. 

In between the two of them stands a little brown boy; his face is innocent and happy without a care in the world. You envy him.

After you give them enough time to decide on their orders, you approach their table, clipboard in hand, along with your best ditzy-girl, innocent _ingenue_ smile. 

“Hi, welcome to the Captain’s Table, can I take your order?”

They greet you warmly; but before the man can introduce himself, a camera bulb from one of the windows flashes in your face, temporarily startling you.

“Oh, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. These reporters follow me wherever I go, it’s quite troublesome.”

“It’s fine,” you say breezily, but the clicks and whirrs of the camera shutters are too distracting for you to come up with a plan on the fly.

_Is this guy somebody famous?_

Upon further inspection, the older man’s attire was funny, almost like he was trying too hard to be ignored, but in a way that drew even MORE attention to himself. Tacky palm trees will do that to a guy. 

Then you realize...

_Is this man Chairman Rose?_

Everyone in Galar knew OF the man, but few knew the man personally. What you knew of the man was that his rapid rise in business, wealth, and success was unprecedented, mythical even: in addition to his status as the Chairman of Galar’s Pokémon League, he probably owned half of the business properties in Wyndon. He had sponsored the current Champion. Some even said he owned his own personal menagerie of shiny, foreign-born Pokémon. 

A man who, in short, spent a LOT of money to be _everything_ to _everyone_. 

To a stupid woman, he’d smell like opportunity. 

To you, he smelt like danger, packaged in garish Alolan-themed wrapping paper.

_Not a safe mark by any means. Better to butter him up for a good tip._

Rose and the woman give you their orders. “I’ll have the bangers and mash,” the young boy then says, and asks you: ”Why aren’t you celebrating? We have a new world champion!”

 _I’m hard at work being your waitress,_ you want to respond, but saucy comebacks didn’t often make for good tips, and judging by the expensive clothing they all wore, you were in for a good pay-day. 

“But if I was out there,” you say with a pout, “I’d never get to meet any of you.”

Jackpot. The older man (Rose?) smiles at you and brushes your hand with a coarse knuckle. He’s got a charming smile; it’s a cat’s smile. 

_You ought to cough up little rookidee feathers,_ you think, noting the way Rose’s mouth turns up at the corners. His belt is tightened a little too taut, and his stomach hangs slightly over the leather: he’d lived an indulgent life. 

He catches you staring and his smile broadens. The young woman next to him catches your returned smile and her artificially happy expression evaporates.

You look away quickly from his gray green eyes. Angry dates or secretaries didn’t make for good tips.

After taking their orders and giving them to the kitchen, you try to look busy with a bowl of unpeeled potatoes, and hastily start peeling them.

There’s murmuring from the central dining room. “I believe I spotted an bright-eyed angel, straight from the heavens in the kitchen.”

“Who?” Your boss’s voice, slightly incredulous.

“The young lady helping us, peeling potatoes.”

“ _Gloria?”_

“Gloria. Hmm.”

Upon hearing your name, you glance up from your bowl of potato skins. Big mistake. The same woman with the stylish hexagonal hoops and pin straight hair glares at you like her spidery eyes could emit hyper beams. 

You scoff a little to yourself. _Jealousy is a disease; get well soon._

 _“_ Fitting name for an angel.”

Your face burns hot, and because you’re not paying attention to your task, the potato peeler slips from your hand and slices your palm; you yelp out in pain. Blood, bright red and fresh, drips from your open hand and onto your apron.

“She’s super nice! Is she new?” you hear the boy ask in between your furious attempts to blot away the blood on your hand. 

“Yes, we hired her a few months ago...”

He interjects, a little too quickly and loudly, “She must be very popular! I mean…”

“Why do you think that, Hop?” The woman asks, a sharp edge in her voice. 

“Because, um, er…” Hop scratches his head. “She’s kinda cute, I dunno…?” 

Oh, no. You knew that tone. The ‘you’d better stop talking if you knew what was best for you’ tone of voice, which interestingly enough, seemed to be completely lost on him. Your resentment of Hop fades, quickly replaced by a sense of astonishment and admiration.

_Just who ARE these people?_

Before he can shove his foot any deeper in his own mouth, you quickly return with their orders piled high on a platter; your boss is now launching into some spiel about your tragic past and the woman (Oleana, you overhear) smiles sadly at you as if the man had saved you from being put down and how glorious it is that you came from a ‘lowly upbringing.’

It isn’t a compliment. You thank her anyway.

They all drank good white wine (save Hop) and ate lump crab cakes and fresh salads as Rose told the older woman about his day. You give them space, but your eyes can’t resist sneaking a peek at the boy, to Rose, back to the boy again. Despite their dark skin tone and light colored eyes, their features were too different; there was no way they were related. 

Hop doesn’t look too interested in the adults’ conversation, and instead flags you down. He then leans in conspiratorially and whispers to you, “Hey. You know, my big bro’s someone super famous!”

 _Aww._ “Yeah?” 

He nods emphatically. Hop then bounces up in his seat, and shouts at the TV. “Oh, that’s him! That’s Lee, the one on TV, that’s the battle I was talkin’ about!”

You lean forward to get a better look at the television. “Who?”

The commotion in the seafood restaurant increases as the dust on the battlefield settles. 

“...celebrating his victory against Champion Lance of the Johto and Kanto Pokemon League–“

Emerging from the dust and smoke is a young man with eyes bright as gold and a fluffy cape, pointing his finger to the sky. The chyron underneath the young man then reads:

_The sparkling hero of justice that’ll save us from evil!_

The announcer bellows, _“_ That’s him!! Our one and only Champion Leon!”

Everyone cheers. You’re temporarily awe-struck.

_Hop…_

_Your brother is the Champion?_

“Is that him?” you ask dumbly.

He nods, fixated on the screen. “Yeah! Pretty cool, innit?”

_He’s…_

_...shining._

Not just shining. Textbook definition dazzling. So bright, sun-spots danced in your eyes after you closed them, type bright.

His charizard by his side, Leon bows to the crowd. You watch. Even you knew that dragons could do all sorts of marvelous things, although only a grand trainer could defeat one, never mind _master_ one.

“That’s our Leon!” a man says. “Isn’t he the greatest?”

“And so humble… I think he pointed out the strides people of all types have made in this country! Didn’t he name drop the Alola region’s professor?”

Oleana sniffs. “Our Professor Magnolia is much more esteemed, though.”

You heave a sigh and polish a glass. 

_I’d love to meet the professor. Go on an adventure with my own Pokémon._

_Not be stuck in this… this dump._

“Professor Magnolia?” Hop asks. You jump back a little, you hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.

“I’ve always wanted to be a professional Pokémon trainer,” you admit after some time. 

At this admission, Rose looks at you with naked, unabashed interest. You fight back a shudder.

Back on the telly, Leon points his finger to the sky in his signature pose. This elicits cheers and shouts from the restaurant patrons. Hop smiles at him with familial pride. 

That dark sense of resentment at this boy returns at once and clouds your thoughts. Even the Galar champion had a loving family who always watched over him. 

_Something you’ll never have._ _People like you exist to serve, and others exist to rule over you._

Just as sharply as a swordswoman dealing a quick blow, you say, “That’s great for you. Just.. just great.” A touch of resentment creeps into your voice and punctuates every word.

“I...” He doesn’t understand why you’re upset, but Hop’s face twists in a mixture of confusion and hurt. “I’m sorry...”

You shake those black thoughts off. It wasn’t Hop’s fault if your life was currently circling the drain. “Let me know if there’s anything more I can do for you.”

Oleana then claps as if she’s meeting a five-year-old and clears her throat. “Actually. We’re done here; thank you.”

“Of course! Let me get that for you.” You make a move to gather their plates, but trip slightly, nearly sending the plates on the platter flying, and you land on your knees.

Immediately, Chairman Rose stands up, and he moves to give you a hand up.

“Did you hurt yourself? I must apologize for rushing you.”

You smile and squeeze his wrist lightly. Startled by the contact, he clutches his chest slightly. “It’s fine. I’m okay. Thank you for worrying about a girl like me.”

You take his hand then, and he shakes his head. “Not a bother at all.”

Buzzing comes from his shorts pocket. “I expect that’s your brother, Hop. We should take our leave. 

After shooting you a final glance, Chairman Rose leaves, with the young boy in tow, leaving Oleana behind. If she had been upset before, she must have been fuming now. Oleana nearly shoves the checkbook into your chest. “Here.”

You look down at it. Scant £ coins litter their bill.

_This tip is terrible…!_

Anger rises fast and furious up and into your face, but if not for the clench of your jaw, no one would have been able to tell you had any reaction. 

“Could I have done anything else to improve your experience today?” you ask. 

She sniffs. “The silverware is dirty.”

You smile and say, “I’m very sorry about that. Thank you for dining with us today.”

After they’ve departed, you furiously scrub their table. 

“What stain?” you ask yourself, almost fuming. 

With a sense of perception nearly clairvoyant, Ollie places Oleana’s glass on your tray and frowns. Pointing to the lipstick stain, he then mouths:

”...missed a spot.”

* * *

“Don’t be too late to work tonight,” your boss calls after you at the end of your shift. You roll your eyes and undock your rusty bike at the entrance. He knew you were a year or two too young to be working here, but your boss let you get away with it because he underpaid you. 

_C’est la vie._

As you now push your rickety shopping cart along the narrow aisles of a local supermarket, you keep calm and try to remain motionless, but your stomach was twisting into knots, and you were beginning to sweat. 

After you nearly catapult into a display of canned sausage, people glance over at you with that “who is this chick, ramming her cart against the wall like an idiot?” look.

_Get it together, Gloria._

_As long as you play it cool and keep to yourself, you should be fine._

But it was hard for a girl to keep calm at a time like this. This was the most money you’d had in your entire life.

You shove your hands in the pockets of the old grey sweater you always wore. It’s way too big, but you liked it that way. It was easier to perform magic tricks with clothes that had lots of compartments in them.

You approach a shopkeeper. “Do you know where I can find crab?”

He directs you to the budget bin sloppily labeled _krab._ You shake your head. “It’s okay. I want the real thing today.”

You could afford to buy groceries for the week _and_ takeaway today: Rose’s watch was worth its weight in gold. 

Truth be told, you had the sinking feeling that your tip wasn’t going to put you in the money, and concocted a quick plan. After you had put your hand exactly over the place where his watch would be, you then gave his wrist a quick squeeze.

You might think a quick squeeze would only draw attention to the fact that a watch might be about to go missing….

But it was a vital part of the move. 

Just before you slipped the watch away, you squeezed it tightly against Rose's arm so that it left an imprint, giving the sensation that it was still there.

Even when it wasn’t.

You remembered examining the piece of jewelry. The watch and chain was the same gold color as Rose’s belt buckle, and was embossed with some kind of serpentine dragon Pokémon. It was heavy, and the rhythm of the minute hand was slow and deliberate, almost as if it seemed to be _counting down to something…_

After taking a few quick glances at your surroundings, you slipped the watch into your pocket. It landed in the bottom of your apron with a satisfying thunk. You’d take it as a consolation prize: Rose never even needed to know it was gone.

_Plan literally can’t go tits up._

But selling the watch was no easy feat— at the pawn shop in town, the shop owner had pelted you with so many questions: this is quite an expensive watch, _how’d a girl like you get a hold of it, it doesn’t seem like the type of jewelry a young woman would like, etc, etc._

You had smiled sweetly and said, “It was an heirloom of my late mum’s.”

He cringed, but then gave you a pitying smile; you knew those words elicit the bit of sympathy you needed to get anyone to turn a blind eye. Everyone liked to be put in the position of hero, after all.

“Do you have ready made curry?” you ask the shopkeeper now. He nods and leads you to the counter where one could buy takeaway.

You now turn over the menu and your mother’s fuzzy words echo in your brain. 

_But lying isn’t good, Gloria._

You mutter a silent apology: “I’m sorry, mum. But you’ll really like the curry I’ll enjoy for the both of us today.”

_And what’s the use of having bad things happen to you if you can’t use them to make good things happen in the future?_

That’s how you need to think. The way privileged people think. Lie unless you know that you can’t get away with lying. 

You look over her portrait in the silver locket around your neck. The home in Wyndon had said it was the only heirloom she had left you with. 

As the cashier bags your groceries, you overhear a jingle playing in the supermarket, a familiar children’s nursery rhyme put to music. Something melancholy and familiar. You hum and look over your groceries.

_Instant curry packets, fresh seafood…_

Then you recognize the tune. You strain to make it out – a folk song? A lullabye? 

Unsettled, you quickly walk outside to find a place to eat your lunch. A woman and her child sing:

_(Wyndon Bridge is falling down...)_

As you peel back the lid of the takeout, you watch them. Who knew where your mum was now? All you knew is she was far, far away from here.

She tickles her son.

_(Who has stole my watch and chain,_

_Watch and chain, watch and chain;_

_Who has stole my watch and chain,_

_My fair lady?)_

She finishes the tune with:

_(Off to prison you must go,_

_You must go, you must go;_

_Off to prison you must go,_

_My fair lady!)_

You frown. Maybe turning tricks didn’t pave the road to a stable and long lasting career, but your wallet and belly were full for now, and that’s all that mattered, really.

“Cheers, mum,” you whisper before digging in.  
  


* * *

  
On your way to the restaurant that same evening, you hum ‘Wyndon Bridge’ against your better judgement.

_Off to prison you must go…_

A crowd of kitchen staff are huddled around the kitchen, your coworkers among them. You listen in:

“I was wondering if you had seen that young lady?”

“...I’m sorry sir, we don’t give out phone numbers here…”

“Oi, Gloria: everything okay?” Oliver asks. He had had run-ins with Galar’s police, being from one of those fanatic fan clubs that slobbered all over famous Pokémon trainers.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“What? Why?”

Isla chimes in, “Boss’s been talking about you for an hour now. That posh bloke from this afternoon’s here too.”

_Literally can’t go tits up._

A chill raises the hairs on your back The watch. _Of-bloody-course_.

You quickly replace the uniform with your old sweater, hastily shoving a few extra £ left over from your sale of the watch into the tip jar.

“Gloria?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I have to go,” you say hurriedly. _Can’t go tits up. Right._

Ollie interjects, “I know this bloke— Piers—“

“That’s great, thanks for trying to help,” you say over your shoulder, quickly making up your mind to leave the seafood restaurant.

Call it insurance from the repercussions of your short sighted plan. 

The memory of the Chairman’s gold watch and chain, _phantom-heavy_ in your back pocket, reminded you you’re living on borrowed time. 

Like hell you’d be stuck in some orphanage, or worse, _prison_ , for the rest of your life. Once you saved up enough money, you’d start over somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Several hours pass. You dismount your old bike, having tired your legs out from peddling like a madwoman. But you’re no more than a few kilometers from the outskirts of the city when you hear:

“There you are.”

”Gloria, was it?” Chairman Rose (it’s definitely him) asks you, same placid smile on his face. He’s standing in front of the gate out of the city.

_Oh, bollocks._

The blue polo shirt and khaki shorts Rose was wearing is replaced with his trademark dove-grey two piece suit. “How are you doing?”

 _Gold watch gold watch gold watch._ “Fantastic.”

He frowns, looks your shabby attire up and down. “You don’t seem it. Aren’t you cold under that threadbare sweater of yours?”

“No.” _Maybe he’s not here about the watch?_

“Ah. I had hoped, at the very least,” he sighs, and looks off in the distance wistfully.

“...the sale of the Celestial would have allowed for you to get new clothes.” 

“One of the world’s greatest shames is a beautiful woman who doesn’t value herself.”

In times of emergency: _maintain innocence, and lie, lie, lie your arse off._ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Walking towards you, Chairman Rose holds up one tan hand, and stops the handlebars of your bike with the other. “I don’t _expect_ you to give me back the watch, Gloria.”

“I didn’t take your watch,” you insist. “Sir.”

“I must applaud you. When did you have the opportunity to take my watch?”

You yank the bike in the opposite direction and retort, “I don’t listen to people who accuse me of things I haven’t done!”

Just as you contemplate the merits of running an old bike tire over his expensive shoes, Rose holds his watch up to the midday sun. Splotches of old blood stain the surface of the gold brown. You cringe.

_Plan’s officially tits up._

“Hardly a baseless accusation, wouldn’t you say?”

You take this chance to race past, but his copperajah blocks the sidewalk in front of you.

The Chairman calls after you:

“It must have been not hard at all to bump into someone so that they clutch foolishly at the front of their shirt, then slip a hand behind their wrist, unclip the watch, and hide it under your apron!”

You’re astonished. _He figured the trick out THAT fast?_

With a tone of voice that was unusually self-deprecating for a business magnate, he laughs, “At the very least, you have to applaud my enthusiasm for losing my own money.”

“You’ve figured me out…” you purr seductively. 

The older man smiles placidly, but doesn’t move an inch. Rose may as well weigh as much as his copperajah, for all the good your efforts were doing.

_Note to self. Come up with new tricks._

That sexy purr then turns into _deeply_ unsexy whining. “Please. I don’t have much to give you.”

That wolf’s smile again. “I am aware.”

What. “Don’t you hate me?”

He says patiently, “Why hate the player if I know how to play the game?”

Point blank, you say quietly, “So, you don’t hate me, _but_ you didn’t expect me to give back your watch, so why are you here?”

He looks off, at some point far away. ”...From your perspective, I suppose that what I am saying makes no sense.”

He and his Pokémon both exchange glances. Rose then asks you a question you won’t soon forget:

“Gloria, will you marry me?” 

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes/Comments
> 
> 1\. The term `picking up pennies in front of a steamroller' is linked to Nassim Taleb, whose books describe an investment strategy that has a high probability to yield a small return (pennies), and a small probability of a very large loss (steamroller).
> 
> 2\. tits up: aka, complete and utter failure (e.g. "the HF radio is tits up"), it was ascribed to drowned female bodies floating 'tits up' whereas male bodies float face down.


	3. Skyclad Spectator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A far-reaching gaze that spans both sea, land and sky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Tried to avoid it, but I’ve got the ‘rona. Sucks to suck. (¬､¬) 
> 
> But my loss is your gain, because I’ve got nothing to do but watch show reruns and write!
> 
> With the quarantine in place, I’ll try to update this story at least 2x a month. Let me know if you’d like shorter updates more frequently or longer updates less frequently.
> 
> As always, I appreciate all forms of feedback, whether it comes in the form of speculation, commentary or otherwise! Let me know what you think of the story thus far.

_Somewhere in Galar, that same day…._

A young woman with red hair like a flame is telling Hop about a Galar fairytale. They sit in Motostoke Town’s central square, underneath a statue of the hero who once saved the Galar region. 

“It’s a basic story: a princess is stuck in a tower faraway, due to be wedded to some foreign royal. It was said that she was very beautiful, but didn’t have many riches. Until the day she was due to be wedded, she was guarded by a dragon, who would never let her out of its sight.”

“For many days, behind the stone walls waited the princess. Then a knight came and saved her, and vanquished the evil beast and its master, and the Darkest Day was averted!”

She looks down from the shade of the tree to look at Hop. “Hop, are you even LISTENING?”

Instead of listening to Sonia’s story, Hop has his headphones plugged into his Y-Comm, and is listening to a rerun of one of Leon’s matches. She slaps him upside the head.

“Hop! Can you at least try to pay attention? You already took a break earlier today…”

”But your story’s so _booooooring,_ ” Hop complains. The older girl scowls and unplugs his Y-Comm. The match audio begins to play through the device speakers...

“A long time ago, there existed a girl, her eyes swollen shut, hiding underneath the wreckage of Wyndon Bridge...” 

The world champion is recalling some story, pulling his cape close to himself as he becomes lost in thought. 

An announcer asks him: “That was from that incident _6 years ago,_ correct?” Leon nods. 

His opponent, a young man with black braids hidden in a bandana, calls out, ”Y-A-W-N! Leon, can you get on with it? My haxorus’s fallin’ asleep here, mate!”

“You’re going to lose _again_ , Raihan, so you might as well let me finish my story,” Leon retorts with a smirk. “As I was saying, back when Wyndon Bridge was about to collapse—“

Now more annoyed with the elder of the two siblings, the older girl rolls her blue eyes and throws up her hands. “Oh my gosh... Here we go with this story again.”

Hop sits up, rapt with attention. He waves a hand motioning the older girl to be quiet. “ _C’mon_ , Sonia! I love this story; I wasn’t even around back then to remember Wyndon Bridge coming down! And Lee’s never told it to the public!”

“...even though I’ve always said, time and time again that " _I want to protect everyone,”_ this time I wasn’t fast enough.”

“I’d evacuated a lot of the citizens in the city, but the girl was stuck under some rubble, and couldn’t get out. I tried to dig and dig, but it was no use… As a piece of rubble came crashing down on the both of us, I covered her with my cape so she wouldn’t be afraid.”

At this point, all of Wyndon Stadium is quiet, and the only thing that can be heard is the wind breeze that blows across the manicured field. Even Sonia has stilled. It seems the whole world is waiting for the conclusion of his story.

“But my trusty Charizard was there to save the day! With a great big gust of its wings, he covered the girl with both claws, stretched out wide, and carried us both to safety amidst the crowd’s applause!”

This elicits a wave of cheers from the audience, but Leon quickly hushes then with a wave of his hand as he turns his attentions to the announcer.

“You were willing to sacrifice yourself for someone else… that’s truly remarkable! What happened to the girl after that?” the announcer asks. Leon’s expression darkens momentarily, but quickly brightens after glancing into the shining stadium lights. 

“She told me she wanted to grow stronger, just like me, and that she thought I was a _true hero._ I then brought her back to her true family, and they were all sorted out,” he says. His eyes dart to Chairman Rose, whose expression is unreadable. “But the point of that story was… you don’t want to go getting so caught up in things that you forget everything you’ve accomplished till now.”

Turning to the crowd, he shouts passionately, “ _Every time_ my heart is filled with doubt, someone’s voice tells me to go far, go far, farther than I ever dreamt possible! That girl’s voice, and several others just like hers, are telling me that I have to become something truly special… That’s why I am YOUR World Champion, Galar!”

“I’ll always be around to make sure everyone in Galar can have a champion time!"

Roars of rapturous and obsessive applause and cheers of all types fill the stadium. Even the young man who was his opponent appeared to be impressed. (That is, after he finished gagging.) 

_“WE LOVE YOU, LEON!!!”_

_“I NAMED MY FIRST BORN SON AFTER YOU!”_

_“I’D LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR YOU, CHAMP!”_

The rest of the battle passes without incident, but right before it’s about to end, Sonia presses the POWER button on his Y-COMM and the screen goes black. Hop lets out a yell in protest.

She tsks. ”Gran said that knowing Galar folklore was very important! Do I _need_ to tell your big brother you’re skipping out on our lessons?”

Hop waves his hands in front of him anxiously. “Don’t say that to Lee! He wouldn’t get it, and he’s too busy anyways! Besides, it’s the same story, Sonia! Brave knight, saves princess, etcetera?”

Unconvinced, the older girl rolls her eyes skyward and fixes a heart-shaped barrette on her head. “Knowing Leon, that story probably happened, but _Chairman Rose_ probably told him to add all that stuff about the girl’s mom and the standing ovation.” She says the man’s in question’s name with only a minimal effort to conceal her contempt. “But I wish Leon’d stop with these outlandish stories… People only seem to _get crazier about him_ when he tells them.”

Hop pouts. “Why you gotta be such a spoilsport, Sonia? I bet that Lee’s downplaying what REALLY happened so that he doesn’t look all pompous. It was probably TWO times as dangerous, THREE times as daring, and FOUR times as heroic!”

She pinches her thumb and index finger together in an o, then flicks his forehead. “I’m sure! But if you’re not careful, you’ll spend your entire life with your head in the clouds like him, Hop.” 

The younger boy is about to argue back, but then Sonia points to his pocket, noticing his Rotom phone is ringing. “That’ll be the Chairman, right? You should get that.”

Hop nods emphatically. “Yeah, he said that there’s going to be a _big surprise_ later tonight at the announcement of the Rose Bowl’s Champion Cup! I can’t wait!”

Sonia rubs her arm as she watches Hop pick up the man’s call. _I don’t know... I’ve got an uneasy feeling for some reason…_

“It should be really exciting! But… You make sure you stick by your brother, Hop. Who knows what could happen tonight.”

* * *

_A few hours earlier…_

You stand there on the dirt road that leads out of Stow-on-Side, unblinking.

“What?” you ask the older man dumbly. “Marry you?” Rose nods.

 _Surprise!_ you expect a crowd of people to jump out from the bushes and cheer. _You’ve been pranked! It’s a trick!_ You continue to look at the Chairman, but his smile is unchanging.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Rose replies, slightly bewildered by your lack of response. “The question has a choice of two answers.”

 _But I’m waiting for you to tell me the punchline,_ you reply patiently.

Now he looks _very_ confused. “A joke? I assure you I was very serious about my proposal.”

 _What’s with this guy?_ “If I get your point… You’re asking _me_ , some loser waitress, from po-dunk Stow-on-Side to marry you! Haha-haha....”

You bust out laughing. “ _Hahahahahaha!_ ” 

Rose frowns. Evidently _he_ didn’t see what was so funny. You wipe a tear away from your eye. “It’s just, there’s no way I’d make a good wife or whatever…”

“And why not?”

“Well—“ you begin to count off what must be the checklist for a suitable wife on your fingers. “Any decent wife of the great Chairman Rose must have the following:”

  1. She has to be of fine breeding: her family should be traced to Galar nobility for generations. _You_ didn’t know who your parents were, and barring some unlikely series of implausible coincidences, they were unlikely to be anyone important.
  2. She has an excellent career. That, or has excellent homemaking abilities. You could make a fine ramen, and even a passable curry, but your cleaning ability and housekeeping was worth jack squat. And your resume wasn’t exactly one they told folk stories about.
  3. _And_ she has to be gorgeous. Like fit into a size 000, and have a huge chest. Like DDD. 



“Wait, is that the biggest chest size?” you wonder out loud to yourself. _I’m pretty sure there’s a size E or F lady out there… Can a woman with those... assets even fit into a size 000?_

At this last point, Rose nearly does a spit take, and exchanges looks with his Pokémon. “What’s this now? Her chest size…? Nobility? No, no, no. You’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

Admittedly, you had added the last part to mess with him, you doubted Chairman Rose liked a girl with a vulgar sense of humor, but you’re taken aback how none of the qualities you listed seemed to matter to him. “Wait. So, you like me…”

“Because I’m a _TOTAL LOSER?”_

“Look at me, Gloria,” he sighs, patting the trunk of his copperajah. “Does it appear that my family has been in Galar for generations...?”

 _Uh… no?_ “I didn’t want to assume,” you mumble.

“And you’d be correct in not doing so,” he says with a nod of his head. “But most of my family are located in a region far away from here— I come from a family of immigrants. Before I hosted the Pokémon League, I slaved away in a coal mine...”

“All of those qualities, I couldn’t care less for. What could I do with a woman who I couldn’t hold a conversation with, much less marry for political expediency?”

You take a step back. “So… You’re being serious? What? No. No. I can’t marry you.”

He takes a step towards you. “...you’re not the kind of girl to wait tables. Many trainers do not worry about money; why should you?”

You take two wary steps back. “People love to talk about others. Why do _you_ care so much about how other people live?” 

“I worked for a long time in the coal mines of Galar. I don’t like to see such hardworking people suffer needlessly.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t want that. I don’t need to be pampered.”

He laughs, and returns his copperajah to its pokeball. “You’d rather learn to fish than stuff your lovely face at the sushi bar. I understand, but heavens know why you’d refuse a generous offer.”

“I’m too young to be anyone’s wife. Besides, don’t you have someone else in your life?”

Rose looks hurt, like actually hurt. He presses a hand to his chest. “Ah... you mean Oleana. She is my secretary. I don’t have any wives.” He holds out a hand.

“There’s got to be a catch,” you attempt now, floundering for some kind of excuse that might get you out of this situation. It was easy to see why many in Galar were in business with Chairman Rose. You doubted they had any choice not to be. “You barely know me. Why would you put your reputation at risk for me? What are you offering?”

 _“_ What’s that now?”

“There’s always some catch.” You eye him suspiciously, and pull away your hand from his. “Otherwise you would have called it a gift.”

Instead of being offended at your wariness, Chairman Rose looks genuinely pleased at your sudden revelation. He nods. “Yes, Gloria. Very good. You understand then, if anyone’s gift comes with conditions, it is not a gift.”

“My offer is such: agree to marry me, and I’ll sponsor you for the upcoming Champion Cup for the 5th annual Rose Bowl. I do think that this should make things more interesting.”

 _Won’t people think that…._ “I’m only sixteen,” you point out. Chairman Rose shrugs and smooths out the lock of hair on his head. 

“At the very least, the scandal should make for good television.” At this point, you narrow your eyes at him; you didn’t like the idea of being made a fool of on national television. But then his tone becomes more soft, more persuasive:

“Come to Rose Tower,” Chairman Rose says. “For just one night, Gloria. Visit Wyndon Castle, then walk amongst the challengers at Motostoke Stadium, eat the fried food at the concession stands, live with dignity for a day. I’m sure I can convince you that my offer is equitable.”

“Where would I stay?”

“At Rose Tower, of course.”

“ _Rose Tower?”_ You think briefly to yourself. “That’s in… _Wyndon… Castle?”_

“Correct,” he says. 

“I don’t know.” You shudder involuntarily. You didn’t have fond memories of Galar’s largest city. “I’ll think about it.”

“I will come by the restaurant tomorrow afternoon. Stars willing you’ll be more accepting of my offer then.”

“Wait. How would we get there? I don’t have a car,” you say after him. _Flying Taxi?_

Without turning around, Chairman Rose asks: 

”Oh. You don’t mind the my personal Knight Taxi, do you?”

* * *

When you got to the gates just outside of Wyndon, you sat quietly in the Knight Taxi, staring at the castle for a long while. As you now watch the sun slant over the city walls, you find yourself taken in by the majesty of the castle. The spires rise high above the city walls. It shapes itself out of white clouds, the marble towers etched with flowers and calligraphy, the blue domes the color of the sky.

Its sheer size and majesty had some kind of mystic power over you.

 _I’ve stayed alive for this long,_ _believing in fairytales and magic,_ you will yourself to believe. _There’s no reason anything should change now._

You shift in your seat nervously. Chairman Rose had been gone for almost three quarters of an hour. You rummage through your pockets, pull out the brand new Y-COMM he had given you and a crumpled up piece of paper.

Before departing for Wyndon Castle the following day, you had packed up your possessions, given several away to your thankful coworkers.

“Is it true? Was that man Chairman Rose?” Isla had asked you in a hushed, awed whisper. You nodded. 

“I knew you said that you’d marry a rich guy someday, but this isn’t funny,” she joked, taking you in for a hug. “Keep in touch, okay!?”

Before you had met Rose at the front of the restaurant, a young man’s voice had called out: “Gloria!”

“Hey, if you get in trouble—“ Ollie slipped you a note with a number with someone’s name and Y-Comm number written in a sloppy on it. Your brow furrowed.

_Piers? Is this a joke?_

“Isn’t that a place?” you had asked him. Cracking a smirk, you then joked, “Piers off of what harbor?” He frowned in response, and the young man had failed to elaborate. 

You now think better of it, and ask the helicopter pilot for a pen. You then scrawl on the note: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY and stuff it back into your pocket. 

Once you’ve grown tired of waiting for the older man’s return, you lean forward in your seat and ask the same pilot, “Where’s Chairman Rose?”

He frowns and checks the electronic display. “Hmm... The Chairman usually is prompt when it comes to giving us the flight instructions to the castle... I’ll have the people at the front open the gates to the city.”

Within a few moments, the gates to the city open, and you’re ushered in by the pilot and a few people of Chairman Rose’s employ. Their uniforms all have a badge that says ‘MACRO COSMOS’ near the name-tag.

No sooner than you have a chance to turn back to watch the gates close behind you, than you lose sight of the pilot, and become quickly lost in the crowds. In the afternoon sun, the Wyndon streets are bustling with activity. 

Your heartbeat accelerates, and you attempt to look for the castle. You’d hadn’t expected to get lost in Wyndon this quickly, but you don’t recognize anyone in the teeming crowds of the city. Most of them don’t spare you a glance. This far into Wyndon, there was nothing but clear blue sky, winding paths, stone walls, and foreign paths for miles.

After hunting for the castle for what seemed to be hours, you crouch down in a darkened alleyway. You then spy a tall, broad-shouldered man, further along the same back-alley as you. He heaves a sigh, turns his head, and focuses his burning, dragon’s gold eyes on you. You try to look away, but for some reason it’s hard to, like the older man’s pulling you in with his gaze. 

You shake your head to be free of him and stand up tall. _Got to find Wyndon Castle. Got to find Chairman Rose._

But you can’t resist looking in the man’s direction once more, and this time he’s staring right at you. Your eyes lock. He’s dressed in a bold red suit jacket, and the collar is adorned with a silky cravat. If it wasn’t for his _uncharacteristically_ posh outfit, you’d swear he was a dead ringer for the Galar Champion. “Blast, and here I just thought I had evaded them here too…”

“Say, you there!” he says, his deep voice calling out to you, and takes a few purposeful strides in your direction. He then takes your wrists in his rough hands. “...Sorry to trouble you, but I think I think I’m lost. Mind helping a fellow out?”

 _WHAT?_ You stammer, “What makes you think I have any idea where I’m going?” _I’m here in this alley with you!_

He frowns. “But you look like you’ve got a purposeful air about you. And there’s no way you could be worse at directions than me.”

“Way worse,” you retort. “I don’t even _like_ Wyndon.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t like Wyndon? I’ve never heard of someone disliking Galar's largest city.”

“It’s just… city crowds make me uneasy,” you lie. Your fingers trace the deep cracks in the stone wall of one of the houses. Then, for a moment, everyone, even the man gripping your wrists, freezes.

Distant screams echo in your ears… 

You count to three. _Wyn-don Bridge,_ and are brought back to reality. But now the man has turned around, and is kneeling slightly in front of you. His dark, tanned fingers are intertwined with yours. You look down at your hands and notice they’re trembling.

“Well! That’s no good.” he announces. 

Annoyed by your sudden weakness, you jerk your hand away. _Did this man fancy himself a hero?_ “I’m fine. I’ll make my way out on my own.”

He frowns and doesn’t release your hands. “How about I give you a spot of advice. For now, let’s simply get out of this place. I won’t _leave_ you here. You’ll be all right now that you’re here with me.”

The man continues, his tan hand still gripping yours, as he guides you along the side roads, “How could anyone hate this place?Wyndon is a beautiful city. A little more than half a decade ago, the city was rebuilt under Chairman Rose’s direction. It’s filled with technological marvels and amazing sights unlike which the world has ever seen before.”

You don’t feel like explaining your distaste for the city to him, but his talking puts you at ease, so you let him continue on. It takes a while— he hadn’t been lying, the man’s sense of direction really _was_ poor — but the both of you eventually made your way out of the Wyndon back alleys.

“Took you forever, innit?” a familiar boy calls out to the man as the two of you pass a cafe.

“Hey, little brother!” the older man takes the figure of Hop, and pulls him into a deep hug, then swings him around by his wrists.

“Lee!” Hop brightens when he sees your face. “And you’ve brought someone? Hey! You’re that waitress from the Captain’s Table back in Stow-on-Side!”

Letting go of your hand, he gives you a once over. “Eh? Hop, you know this girl?”

“Wait... these bright eyes over here... I’ve got it!” he smiles at you. “There was a girl Hop was going on about yesterday…. That’s you? Gloria?”

“Yes,” you say, realization dawning on your face. _And you’re..._

“No way...”

His dark eyebrows draw together. “?” You take one step back.

_Dark facial hair. Raven-purple locks. Burned hands..._

The man then gives you a smirk and bows slightly. “Figured me out, have you?”

“That’s right—!”

With no thought to his status nor appearance, you then exclaim, “How does the Galar Champion get lost in his _own_ city?”

Far from the hero’s welcome he had expected from you, Leon gapes at you open-mouthed, then scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Don’t judge the man, he’s managed it once or twice!”

You give Hop, and then Leon a once over. _So Hop really wasn’t kidding when he said his brother was the Champion…_

Hop continues, “I talked to Chairman Rose after we went out to eat, because you seemed really nice! And he said he would try to find you!”

 _Chairman Rose!_ Remembering your purpose in coming to Wyndon, you spy the entrance of Wyndon Castle, with lines of people crowding the doors. “Thank you for helping me. Actually, I’m actually supposed to be somewhere...”

Hop scrunches up his face unhappily. Pleading, he then says to his brother, “Aww, but we just met up! Lee, can’t you force her to stay?”

But Leon doesn’t have to do anything of the sort: you raise both hands in defeat. You don’t really feel like arguing with the Champion or his brother at a time like this. You weren’t sure you wouldn’t become lost in Wyndon again, and you felt safer with the both of them around. Surely Rose would send for you _eventually._

As you traverse the sights of Wyndon, you say to Leon, noting his lack of cape or SnapBack cap, “So why the different choice of outfit? Trying to evade your adoring fans?”

He looks offended for a brief moment, but then smiles at you. “Of course not! I _never_ shirk my duty as Champion. Today I’m here in the capital on official business. I made a detour to see my brother before the commencement ceremony at Wyndon Stadium tonight.”

“Until you got lost, Lee,” Hop teases. His brother ruffles his hair.

On the screen in Wyndon’s central square, Chairman Rose is giving an announcement. Leon smirks. "Well. The chairman certainly seems to be in high spirits!”

“I can’t imagine why,” you laugh nervously. 

Leon smiles kindly and whispers to you, “Let’s just say, Gloria, it’s not everyday you see the chairman of one of the biggest sporting events of the world and heir to one of the largest fortunes in Galar get engaged to a young woman.”

You tense. Apparently the news of Chairman Rose’s sudden engagement had become common knowledge in Wyndon. But did he know who the identity of the bride belonged to? 

Hop then turns to his brother. “She’s pretty lucky, isn’t she, Lee? She’ll probably be treated like a princess!”

Leon laughs, “That is, if Oleana doesn’t let her have it every minute of every day!”

 _Wow. Sounds promising._ You, however, breathe a sigh of relief. At least they didn’t know. You wouldn’t have admitted to it unless you could help it. “When will the Chairman let Galar know?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Gloria. I believe he was due to say something tonight, but the engagement’s still up in the air.”

As you watch the two of them bicker, your unease fades. It's almost like meeting the sun: Leon’s just so happy and warm and wonderful, talking and smiling with his brother. During these moments, Leon acts like the two of you are the most important people in the world at that moment, and like he has no better place to be.

Your shoulders slump, and you immediately regret what you had assumed of Leon and his family. The Galar Champion was popular for good reason: for simply _being who he was._ And you couldn’t fault him for that. Some people were born naturally kind and honest, with no ill will in their heart towards others.

What you wouldn’t have given to be born into a family like theirs. 

He then glances down at his gold watch. “Blast, and look at the time! Nearly forgot my meeting with the Pokémon League officials later today. Hopefully, I’ll see the both of you at the announcement of today’s Rose Bowl!”

After giving you one last sidelong glance, Leon ruffles his brother’s hair and takes the lift towards the stadium.

“Do you have plans for later today?” Hop asks you once his older brother’s departed. 

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to the ceremony tonight as a competitor!” Hop says proudly, putting a thumb to his chest. He then looks down at his feet with an embarrassed flush. “Will... you be there, Gloria?”

Absentmindedly, you jab at the Y-COMM Rose had given you. Nothing still. You look off at the castle, whose entrance was still mobbed with people. You quickly figure the best way to meet with Chairman Rose again would probably be at the commencement, so you nod.

“I’ll probably go to watch the opening ceremony... Ever since I was little, I’ve always wanted to compete in the Champion Cup.” _Then again, when I was ten, I also said that I’d be an expert Wooloo herder and breed myself a flock of black woolly sheep._ “That’s at Wyndon Stadium?”

He nods. “Yes! Wyndon Stadium is the biggest stadium in Galar and serves as the Pokémon League headquarters! That’s where the commencement is going to start!”

“Okay, I’ll go.” Besides, there was little harm going to see the competitors at the stadium. “At the end of the Champion Cup... The Trainers who have earned eight badges in the Rose Bowl then face off to decide who gets the right to challenge the current Champion for his or her title. Is that right?”

“You’ve got it right! I even came up with my own title! But I won’t tell you unless you promise to come and cheer for me!”

You nod.

Before long, he departs as well — Hop had been telling you about how important it was for him to get some warmups with other trainers, and such before making his grand debut— he wheedles you into exchanging phone numbers with him.

“Now that I know how to call you, you have to come, you hear? I don’t want Lee to be the only one to cheer once I say my title!” You laugh and nod. 

You then look off at the peaks of the castle. _Now, about Wyndon Castle..._

* * *

You decide to wait on Chairman Rose before going to the castle (it _was_ packed to the gills), but he doesn’t call on you for the rest of the day. Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d let you have the run of the city. 

Using what was remaining of the watch money, you rent a hotel room for the night. If, after all this time you’d finally go back into the heart of Wyndon, you’d enjoy yourself as best you could. After ordering room service and eating a few greasy chips, you run a bath, and pour all the hotel’s plastic mini-bottles of shampoo into the water, making it foam. 

Halfway through getting dressed, an incoming alert on your Y-COMM prompts you to accept a message from Hop’s number: 

[hey are you coming?]

Right! You had promised the boy, after all. You dash out of the hotel and towards the stadium, which was hard to miss. Wyndon Castle would have to wait.

Wyndon Stadium is almost as glorious as the castle; it’s a square steel-and-glass building that exists on the higher level of Wyndon, with all the trappings that come with being built in one of Galar’s most expensive neighborhoods. As you’re filed in with the rest of the latecomers, you amaze at the modern architecture, and state of the art televisions and displays that pepper the arena.

From far above, you hear the ring of a bell as the opening ceremony of the Rose Bowl is announced. On the many television screens, you see Gym Leaders making their way onto the field, and trainers throwing bouquets of vibrant, multicolored roses into the crowd. Leon is clad in his royal Champion garb, complete with its woolly checked cape and white athletic tights, giving a speech to the crowd…

“...ready to have a Champion time with all of you!”

At the conclusion of his speech, the audience bursts into applause. You make your way into the stands, then look around and share excited smiles with the rest of the crowd. But then, as you look down from the stands, you meet a female competitor's fierce eye, and give her a small smile. She doesn’t smile back. In fact, she’s the _only_ one not clapping at the end of Leon’s speech. 

You can’t get a good view from where you are currently, so you decide to make your way to the VIP section of the seating arrangements at Wyndon Stadium. Rose must be expecting you.

Until he isn’t. _You’re not on the list,_ the usher to the VIP section insists, even as you give your name multiple times. He turns to another Macro Cosmos employee. “Please eject this girl from the premises! This girl... is making a disturbance.”

What?! You’re about to argue some more when you feel a faint buzzing in your back pocket; your Y-COMM had gone off. You look at the electronic display. 

[hey] [u here?]

You quickly text Hop back:

[sry going to be late :( ]  
[can’t find a seat…]

[OK]

[there’s something wrong… anyways…]  
[they can’t finish the ceremony]

Before you can ask exactly _why_ , a man wearing the colors of official Pokémon League staff comes up to you and the usher.

“What’s the reason for the commotion?”

The usher motions to you. “This girl keeps saying that Chairman Rose has sent for her.”

The official scrutinizes your face. “Are you... Gloria?” he demands. 

“Yes?”

He breathes out a sigh of relief and nods to the other man. “Thank the Wishing Stars! Come with me!”

You’re then half-dragged, half-yanked by your sweater to the athlete's dressing room near the entrance of the stadium green. Annoyed, you pull away your sweater from his grasp. _This isn’t one of the seating areas..._ “What’s going on? Why did you take me here?!”

He pulls some hangers aside, and holds one out to you. A striped jersey hangs from a thin metal hanger. “Here’s your uniform!” Your eyes grow wide. He asks you then, “That’s you, innit? Gloria? You’ve got _some nerve,_ showing up as late as you did!”

 _Huh?_ You put your hands on your hips. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re late! You were supposed to be out there on the field at a quarter past six! Get _this_ on and get _out_ there!”

 _Oh no._ You wave your hands in front of you hurriedly. “Wait! I think there’s been some mistake. I didn’t even say yes to Chairman Rose’s offer—“

“Last call, number—“The announcer’s reading out the number on the jersey held out in front of you. 

The employee turns to you. “ _That number’s_ the one missing, girlie!” He shakes the fabric of the jersey. “Hear that? We don’t have all day here!”

Complaints arise from the other contestants on the field.

_“Can we just start this?!”_

_“It’s positively criminal, wasting the time of people more important than she is.”_

The announcer frowns and turns to the older man. “Chairman Rose... has there been some sort of misunderstanding? Normally a challenger has never been this late to their own entrance… If she doesn’t show up in the next five minutes, then she’ll have to forfeit her spot—“

Calmly, Rose holds up a hand. “It says here on the flyer that there’s due to be one more competitor. My good man, just give the girl a moment.”

“Chairman Rose is right.” Leon crosses his arms. “What harm is there in waiting for a couple of minutes?”

Rose takes a few steps on the stadium field. “But… Out of respect for the other contestants, I’ll give her one more minute to decide. I don’t like to keep our captive audience waiting for too long, it’s in bad taste.”

Your eyes grow wide as you watch the red countdown clock now displayed on the stadium television.

_59...58..._

“Well?” the man demands. 

_The time is slipping away...._ Chants of your number grow ever louder as the crowd becomes more and more restless…

_Bring her out!_

_Bring. Her. Out!_

As if the lights were turned on in your brain, you suddenly come to a realization. You look up at the smiling projection of Chairman Rose and scowl.

_That rotten... So THIS was his plan all along!_

Lesson learned: _never_ underestimate the power of peer pressure. Rose’s plan all along had been to lure you here, then force you to take his offer. 

Now knowing this, you watch the seconds on the clock peel away, glancing from the jersey to the referee and then back again, the crowds’ incessant chanting threatening to drown out your senses:

_BRING. HER. OUT!_

_BRING. HER. OUT!!_

_BRING. HER. OUT!!!_

Then, fast as you can, you tear off your sweater and dress and slip on the football jersey and then dash out onto the field just as the countdown is about to end. 

“Wait! WAIT!!” you choke out. “She’s here!”

As you run past the bleachers, gasps explode from the crowd!

_“By the grace of the Wishing Stars...!”_

_“Is that HER?”_

_“FINALLY!”_

_“What took so long?!”_

After taking the empty spot on the pitch, you bend over and place your hands on your thighs. You then exhale and heave; you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. With how fast you had sprinted onto the pitch, you could’ve thrown up.

Good-naturedly, the Champion looks up to the sky and jokes, “And here I thought we’d be waiting ages for you—But you surely know how to make quite the entrance!” Leon then looks down at you, and his dark eyebrows nearly fly off his face.

_“...Gloria?”_

You smile uneasily. “That’s.. my name.”

Before Leon can ask you any more questions, the referee on the field asks, “Challenger! What is the title with which you come to challenge the Galar Rose Bowl here today?”

Your eyes dart to your left and see that the smile on Rose’s face has widened, and feel a tinge of annoyance at yourself for taking his bait. 

_Two can play at that game._ If he wants a show, you’d _give_ him a show.

_Time to cast your magic._

“Everyone! Thank you all for waiting,” you say, smiling to the crowd. “My name is Gloria, and I am—“

You stand up straight, and bite your lip, instantly becoming the perfect picture of the distraught, pure heroine in need of rescue. You then pitch your voice to the crowd, which has quieted to hear your voice…

“The Rose Princess.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments
> 
> 1\. I believe the original stadium in game that kicks off the Champion Cup is Motostoke Stadium. Let’s say for the sake of the story that Rose wanted his bride to be announced at a place with a little more pomp and circumstance!
> 
> 2\. Apparently Chairman Rose’s exclusive Knight Taxi is anime exclusive? This’ll likely be the only thing I take from the show, hehe. Artistic liberties!


	4. Les Fleurs du Mal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Writing's on the wall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...

* * *

At your announcement, the arena erupts into a shocked mixture of jeers, boos, and cheers. You look around the crowd for a friendly face or someone who you might recognize. Only a few paces away on the field, Leon stares at you. You catch his eye, and say nothing. A look like pain comes over his handsome face.

You feel a brief twinge of guilt at not revealing your identity to him, but cast aside any feelings of remorse, choosing instead to smile diplomatically at the crowd and then, at your fellow competitors. You had lived your entire life on the outskirts of society to make sure nobody ever saw a hint of internal weakness. You only allowed people to see what you wanted them to see.

Turning your attention away from the Galar Champion, other competitors stare at you, fish-eyed and slack-jawed. Hop, and another boy next to him are amongst the surprised onlookers. The boy beside him’s face seems to be turning a fresh shade of beetroot purple. 

With the jeering crowd at your back and the disgruntled competitors in front, you steel your nerve.

_You have to smile... Be charming. Never forget they all want you gone._

You keep calm and try to remain motionless, but your stomach was twisting into knots, and you had begun to sweat. Your heart is pounding arrhythmically in your chest. You breathe in and out. _I’m alive. I’ll get through this._

The announcer speaks into the mic. “What a good show! What do you call that kind of entrance?”

You smile, slightly embarrassed. _Unflinching, delusional arrogance in the face of certain terror? “_ The only entrance I know how to make,” you admit, half-truthfully.

“Bride of Roses? Does that mean you’re Chairman Rose’s new _beau?”_

Before you can answer, Rose cuts you off. “Yes, everyone, that is correct. Our engagement is still tentative, and so I had hoped to keep it private for the time being.”

“Any reason for your miraculous change of heart?” Rose asks, low enough for you to understand but not loud enough for anyone in the crowd to overhear.

“I like to be spoiled, just a little bit,” you whisper. “And the helicopter _was_ very nice.”

The older man smiles indulgently. “I’ll spoil you to your heart's content. But you must have many men tell you that.”

“They do, but then again, they also say that they love me. I _really hate_ when guys do that.” You pantomime a gagging motion.

“If I say I love you, you’ll cut me loose, is that it?” he laughs. He quiets the crowd with the lowering of his hands.

“I had become worried that I might have a runaway bride on my hands, but now I see that I had no reason for alarm,” Rose whispers in a low tone. He then laughs, taking your hand and interlacing his tan hand in with your own. The ghost of a frown crosses his face. “But that was very dangerous to say. Couldn’t you have waited for me to make the announcement?”

“I’m a dangerous girl,” you say back, over the jeers and shouts of the crowd. “And it’s more fun this way— didn’t you say you wanted a good show?” 

By standing on your tip toes, you just about reach his shoulder height. You whisper in his ear, “Everyone will be dead in 100 years, so what’s the point of not having fun?”

The older man blinks, taken aback by your audacity. He, however, then smiles. “We _will_ get very well along, won’t we?”

He leans in for a kiss. In the interest of discretion, you avoid his kiss, turning your head to the side so his lips narrowly graze the side of your cheek. Chairman Rose bows his head with good grace. Your face burns sticky and hot, feeling moist where his saliva had been left behind.

“Rose Bride? What kind of name is _that?”_ A girl yells out. Her scruffy hair is tied up in pigtails. It’s the same girl who was scowling throughout Leon’s speech. 

“It’s mine,” you say defiantly. You mirror her nonchalant stance and take a defiant step towards her. When you’re under a spotlight, people will criticize anything. “Want to make something of it?”

The young woman clenches her jaw, and meets your challenge. She has a tiny morpeko, it currently hides behind her ankles. 

The announcer looks to Chairman Rose for permission to drum up the controversy. He nods.

The man then yells, “Is a _challenge_ being issued by Pokémon trainer Marnie at the commencement ceremony?! This is unprecedented in the history of the Galar Rose Bowl!”

You don’t have many Pokémon worth fighting with right now, and you had no Dynamax band, but you’re more than willing to spar with her verbally. “If she wants to!”

Before long, Leon breaks up the tense confrontation. “That’s enough from you two ladies,” he says, standing between you and Marnie. His eyes, however, are all on you. “Everyone wants to have a champion time participating in the tournament! Plenty of time to have a fire-hot battle at the other stadiums.”

The two of you glare at one another over the man’s outstretched arms. She then lowers her pokeball. “Pfft. Not worth it. ‘Least I don’t hitch my identity to some man,” the girl Marnie scoffs.

Not figuring it to be any good to antagonize her further, you give her the loveliest, thorniest smile you can summon up. “If that’s what you think, that’s okay with me.”

You then put your hand out to shake. 

“Good luck, I guess,” Marnie shrugs, shoving her hands in her pockets. 

Not surprised to have been blown off, you turn away from her coolly. 

Show people the entirety of your feelings, and you’re emotional and can’t be trusted. Don’t show them at all, and you’re an ice queen that can’t be trusted. “Same to you.”

* * *

  
  
Despite the clamor generated by your entrance and subsequent announcement, you stride out of the arena, head held high. Rose had other commitments, but he had entrusted a few Pokémon League personnel to ensure you made it to the castle.

But then a young boy’s voice cries over the din of the crowd: “Hey! Wait… _wait!_ Gloria!”

 _Hop?_ You whirl around. Before you can meet him, a chorus of jeers from the bleachers draws your attention. 

“Boo! BOO! Marnie’s the only _princess_ around!” a bunch of boorish, face painted grunts say as they surround you on all sides. You’re initially confused by the title they’ve bestowed on you: you were engaged, not revealed to be part of the royal family.

Guess if you were getting married to ‘royalty’ in Galar, it made you some kind of princess. Or not. Wasn’t there some man who was descended from royalty in Kalos...?

You blow them a spiteful kiss. They’re not nearly as appreciative of your courtly gesture, and proceed to hiss and jeer at you. 

“Marnie’s the best!” One grabs at your arm. “We won’t let the people of Galar be taken in by the charms of some… witch!”

No cameras here, so no need to play up your helplessness— you scowl and yank your arm away. _If I was a witch, you’d ALL be tympoles by now._

“Let me go,” you say angrily. “Or does Marnie need you to do all her dirty work?”

A female Team Yell grunt spits at you, “Marnie doesn’t need any of us to do anything for her. But if you don’t start singing a different song, you’re going to wake up somewhere and be straightened out, girlie.”

“Just try it!” you retort. A grunt gathers up your sweater in a fist.

_Wrong answer._

Incensed by your smart answer, they don’t let up, and one of them tears your jersey. “Get her! Don’t let her leave the arena!”

Just as you think you’re going to be overwhelmed by Marnie’s fan club, a woman’s elegant hand yanks you forward, through the crowd. 

Up to this point, you thought you had been maintaining your composure well, but you’re then quickly shoved into a fast moving sedan, and you yell out in protest. 

_Let me go—!_

But the graceful hand that had been leading you through the crowd is revealed to be Secretary Oleana’s. She is now applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the seat adjacent to the driver’s. The sedan smells of expensive leather and a pine air freshener that hung from the rearview mirror.

“Had fun?” she asks. The older woman doesn’t sound very amused, but you play along.

“The most fun I’ve had in ages!” you laugh, exhilarated by the quick getaway you had managed to achieve. She sighs and signals for the driver to make a left turn.

“Now I see why the Chairman took an interest in you. He does _love_ to be entertained... But I do wish you had been wearing something more suitable for the announcement of your engagement.”

You look down at your shabby clothes, wiggle a finger through a hole in your gray sweater. “What, this wasn’t good enough?” you say with enough levity in your voice to let her know you were joking. “How did you know I'd need a wardrobe change?”

Thankfully, the older woman appreciates the sass in your remark (or at least, doesn’t take it the wrong way), and gives you a bit of a smirk in return. “Call it Oleana’s intuition. If you’re going to be the bride of Rose Tower, you have to at least look the part.”

She then takes her time to explain that she had arranged a salon visit for you, posthaste. The tone in her voice let you know it wouldn’t be wise to argue.

In the salon, the furniture is modern and the living room sparsely decorated. It gives off a very chic, minimalist vibe. “Last minute appointment on Chairman Rose’s behalf,” she barks to the salon staff. “Under the name Oleana.”

“I didn’t have trouble attracting attention before,” you protest as you’re plopped down in a chair, but the hairstylist and Oleana frown. 

Oleana tut-tuts. “Regardless of what Mr. Rose has told you, It’s your responsibility to sell this lifestyle. You’re now the fiancée of one of the most respected men in the world, so you must look and act the part.”

 _Wait, what?_ “I understand I’m Chairman Rose’s fiancée. But you want me to sell _what?”_

With an exasperated sigh, the older woman flips open her communications device and points to a headline. “Look at this. You’re famous.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your face as you read the words on Oleana’s Y-COMM. There was your picture, plastered across the headlines, many like: _The Chairman’s New Beau? Everything’s Coming Up Roses for This Brand New Competitor!_

“See? Here was a poor, depressed young woman, down on her luck...” she reads off one of the articles. “Then, like a shining hero, Chairman Rose was able to uplift you from your lowly existence! He was able to see your inner beauty, and judge you fit to compete in the Rose Bowl!”

You slump in the chair. She sounded _way_ too happy to be reading that article. So much for Oleana’s revised opinion of you. She tolerated you because she was thoroughly convinced of your inferiority. 

The hairdresser casts you a sympathetic glance. “Men are wolves. Dangle meat in front of them and they’ll go mad,” she whispers in your ear as she trims off a lock of hair. “It doesn’t mean anything about your beauty or status. The Chairman has been known to pull outlandish stunts to garner publicity for the Champion Cup before. Chin up.”

You attempt a smile, and she continues her work. 

While you’re sitting in the salon chair, Oleana flips through a glossy catalog; its pages filled with glamorous, slim models showing off all types of fashions. “As I was saying. The rose in Galar is a sacred, timeless symbol of beauty and grace. You will do it justice.”

At last the hairstylist finishes her work. “Much prettier now.” The woman says proudly, smoothing your hair out. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?” 

You gaze at yourself in the mirror. It’s a look fit for a true-life princess.

“Thank you, but I can’t possibly afford this,” you stammer to Oleana as you take in your new appearance. “I’ll try to pay you back for the cut and color. But I was going to head to the drugstore to pick up my makeup—“

“The ROADSHOP?” Oleana screeches, aghast. Her pupils shrink to the size of pin needles. “I can’t allow that! You’re going to live at Wyndon Castle, all expenses complimentary of the Chairman, so you will wear the finest cosmetics available in department stores, and have any outfit you desire picked out for you from boutiques.”

You heave a sigh. “Okay.”

Before you leave to shop with Oleana, the hairdresser slips a heavy object in your pocket. “I don’t know why, but I thought this lipstick would suit you.” she whispers, patting your pocket. “Keep it for good luck.”

She was right: you needed all the luck you could get. You quickly tire from all the shopping and going from store to store with Oleana. The bags that hung off your forearms didn’t feel like they were stuffed with tissue paper, but filled with rocks instead.

“Can’t we rest for a while?” you complain once you’re dragged inside another boutique. “Who needs this many blouses and dresses?”

“You do,” Oleana says, looking you up and down. _Obviously. “_ Try this one on.” She hands you a soft dress.

You lower the piece of clothing to look skeptically at Oleana. “So... You aren’t going to cut holes in my clothes?”

“Hardly,” she remarks, cleaning off some dirt underneath a stiletto-shaped nail. The older woman then scoffs again. “I have been Chairman Rose’s secretary and primary confidant for more than a decade. Our relationship is beyond that of a husband and wife.”

Your brow furrows as you look over the satin dress. _So why the sour face?_

Oleana heaves a heavy sigh. “More than anything in this world, the Chairman enjoys good food and the company of beautiful women. But his wandering eyes often get him into trouble… it’s my duty to ensure his appetite doesn’t grow out of control. Chairman Rose does enjoy these kinds of menial games, after all."

You immediately regret getting on the older woman’s bad side. Like it or not, getting into Oleana’s good graces would help you live a less stressful life, and she knew Chairman Rose better than anyone else in Galar. “I’m in your hands.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“Wyndon Castle is on the left,” Oleana instructs the driver. He makes a sharp turn, and she bumps into the side door. The car swerves into the driveway, and you nearly fall into the few shopping bags on the ground of the passenger seat. 

“Can’t you drive _properly?”_ she snaps at the driver, her nails digging into his skin. He stammers excuses, and Oleana huffs angrily. 

“Wait here,” she then says to you. “I will let you know when sufficient preparations have been made for your arrival.”

And she leaves you in the car. You didn’t dare argue with her when she got in a mood like that.

Before you go inside Wyndon castle, you decide to prepare yourself by giving yourself a once over in the car mirror and adjusting your makeup. The lipstick the salon owner has given you has a pleasant heft in your palm. The bullet is some hue of pinkish-red, the color of roses in bloom. You apply the lip color straight from the bullet. 

A knock on the car door. You see an employee with a Macro Cosmos nametag. “Miss Gloria? We’re ready for you.”

After being quickly introduced to your room, you put your things down in front of the door. You hadn’t ended up taking many of the dresses you had tried on. None were practical enough to walk in, much less run. 

Before you can explore it further, you then hear a commotion from the living room.

”Be reasonable, Chairman Rose!”

There’s a small hole on the door to the living room. 

Through the peephole, you spy a group of people sitting at a grandly set table. You spot Oleana’s platinum blond hair, and the bottle green of Chairman Rose’s eyes. It’s difficult to see much more, so you lean in to hear their conversation. 

“ _She’s_ going to stay in Rose Tower?” the boy with the mop of curly blonde hair asks incredulously. “The waitress from Stow-on-Side?!”

“Another one of your stray puppies....?” an employee wearing a white uniform sighs. “Chairman Rose. There is no shortage of eligible women in Galar for you to choose from. There is no need for you to take this... girl in.”

You eavesdrop on the conversation and immediately wish you hadn’t. You’re greeted with a chorus of disapproving remarks...

“I’m no stray pup!” the boy argues. “Chairman... tell me that you don’t see the same POTENTIAL you saw in me, in her!”

“Bede—“

But then you lean in more, and hear the slam of a door, and another person storm in. Your heart falls into your stomach as his booming voice echoes throughout the room:

“Rose, are you _out of your mind!?”_ the voice of Champion Leon now asks the older man angrily. “That young woman — Gloria — can’t be much younger than me... She’s almost Hop’s age! This is madness!”

Your hands ball into fists. You thought Leon was on your side. Evidently not. Then again, how was he to know of your reasons for doing anything? 

Rose’s voice, nonchalant. “She’s young. So?”

Leon’s in response, incredulous. “So? SO? You’re really mad, Rose.”

Someone’s voice scolds you. _You just want to like Leon because he’s handsome. Everyone here’s out for themselves. It’s a dog-eat-dog world._

Oleana’s voice, high and furious. “Ha! You may be the Champion, but you have no right to speak to the Chairman that way. Apologize at once—“

Rose sighs. “Oleana, let the boy speak.”

Once you’ve had enough of their gossip of you, and you decide your stomach was empty enough to entertain thoughts of cannibalism, you push open the door. 

“Gloria.” Oleana says, managing a wan, thin smile at the sight of you. “We were just discussing you.”

“I’m glad,” you say, doing a mock curtsy. You then remember all too well how many times you had been scolded for dropping a plate or messing up an order or not getting to customers fast enough, and mentally add: _Most of the time, people are screaming about me._

A couple of chuckles from the assembled crowd.

“Clearly she can speak for herself.” a man remarks, and you wince. Said what you were thinking out loud again. 

But Rose gives you an appraising smile. “Beautiful and witty. Where do you think I can find women like that in Galar? I’ve found they are in short supply. Gloria, have a seat. You must be famished.”

“Starved,” you agree, uncaring what any of these people had to say about you, you were that hungry. You grab a marble plate and load it up with the delicacies on the table, many of which you had never seen before. _Yorkshire puddings, little savory tarts, roast carrots—_

“How was your excursion with Oleana?” he asks you mid-bite.

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Fantastic.” 

“What manners…” a woman whispers. 

“Doesn’t she have any shame?”

“How can she just sit here and eat?”

Even more guests of the Chairman start to file into the room, and their attentions are all on you. “Chairman Rose, please reconsider. She’s some tramp you found off the street! Look how shameless she is!”

“I’m hungry,” you retort. You were hardly going to starve on account of these people who you didn’t know, but you _knew_ didn’t like you. 

Oleana’s no fan of your table manners, but even _she_ speaks up in your defense. “Quiet. Mr. Rose’s genius isn’t always readily apparent, but everything will become clear in time.”

“She has no Dynamax band, no experience as a Pokémon trainer, no courtly virtue… you met the girl when she tried to steal your watch!” a man stammers. After recounting your misdeeds, he smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “She’s mad.”

“You all need more of my kind of madness,” you say, munching on a sweet tart. Rose chuckles. Oleana even cracks a smile. 

One of the Pokémon League officials looks to the Champion, then turns to Rose. “Chairman... You’ve already made waves with your sponsorship of the trainer Bede. There’s very few people with the authority to give two sponsorships per competing year. Aren’t you worried you’re setting a precedent?”

With a look of something approximating annoyance, Rose looks at Leon. “Well, I believe I’m not the only one with that authority. There are two people in the League with the ability to sponsor two trainers, after all. And _he’s_ already made use of that privilege.”

Two people with the ability to sponsor multiple trainers? This was _news_ to you. You knew one was Chairman Rose. _The other...?_

Leon pushes himself out of his chair and stands up. “I’ve heard enough. I hope you’ll see reason, Rose, but I don’t have very high hopes. Excuse me.” He storms out, cape trailing behind him.

The opposition to your sponsorship, which you now realize had been led by Leon, now disappears. Oleana, followed by Bede, and the rest of the Pokémon League personnel take their leave soon after. 

Once the two of you are alone, Rose winces. “I do apologize that you had to hear all of that. How are you enjoying Wyndon Castle thus far? You’re looking very beautiful.”

 _Before or after I heard everyone talking about me?_ You smile apologetically and put your fork down. “It’s a lovely castle. But is it okay if I stay, really?”

He smiles. “Your stay here is welcome. Never mind Leon and Bede. They will continue to protest, and they do that, knowing I consider them to be like sons to me. But... even sons need to know their place.”

“They need to let their dad be a little happy,” you laugh. “I’m happy that you want me to stay.”

“But of course. Did you see your room?”

He gives you a tour of the castle, starting with your bedroom and ending with the grand ballroom. The bedroom was thick with dust: it covered every surface, the wood and the glass, and motes of it floated and danced through the beams of sunshine coming through the open window. It had clearly fallen into disrepair. 

But the ballroom was more grand than the bedroom, and you marveled at all the sights in the castle: the plush soft carpet, the marble statues of old heroes and Pokémon, and the stained glass windows which let in dazzling rose shaped beams of light. 

Before long, however, Rose’s being called away on some errand— Oleana hadn’t been joking about his busy schedule. 

In way of apology, he gives you a courtly kiss on your knuckles. “Apparently there are some matters of business I need to have settled before you can start your journey. I apologize for not being able to show you the entirety of the castle. But you’ll need a Dynamax band, as well as some suitable Pokémon. I’ll have those ready for you before the end of the week.”

“Before I depart, however... These are for you.” he holds up a keyring with many keys hanging off the metal. It is heavy with the power of opening. “The keys to Wyndon Castle.”

“Every door in the castle?” you ask. He nods.

Impulsively, in a voice you almost didn’t recognize to be yours, you then asked: “Including... the basement?” 

Crazily enough, you didn’t know why you had asked the question in the first place. You didn’t even know if Wyndon Castle _had_ a basement. 

A frown creases Chairman Rose’s forehead and he sighs. “Yes, even _that one,_ Gloria. I can’t stop you from going into the basement, but I know that if you do, you’ll probably regret it. As such, if you do decide to open the door to the basement of Rose Tower, our agreement is null and void. I can’t promise you you’ll like what you find inside, nor will I be able to protect you from the consequences of your actions...”

 _Consequences of your actions?_ Just what was Chairman Rose up to in the basement of Rose Tower? Your hand wavers there, over the ring of keys. “What’s... inside the basement?”

He pulls out the key to the basement. It’s smaller than the rest of the keys, and it’s so beautiful, with small intricate inlaid rose emblems on the gold metal. “The secret of the beautiful, glittering world of Galar,” the older man says sadly.

Rose lets the golden key fall back to the keyring, becoming hidden now amongst the rest of the plain tarnished keys. He says quietly, “You can _always_ have a good life with me, Gloria. Be careful that your own regrets do not ruin it.”

* * *

  
  
You spend the majority of the following day settling in, hanging up your new clothes in the closet, exploring the ancient rooms next to yours. You don’t venture too far into the castle, lest some whim come over you and you wander into some forbidden room. Like the _basement._

Every key on the keyring has its own distinctive shape: by the end of the day you’ve opened almost every door you could with the keys Rose had given you, leaving only two, the gold key and a rusty one. You pass over the little gold key in favor of this rusted iron one. Little vines and leaves demarc the rusted metal.

It takes a good while, but you find the door to the outside gardens, and the rusty key sticks in the door, but you finally push open the door to the outside.

“It’s like the secret garden,” you breathe, taking in the sight of Wyndon Castle’s magnificent garden. 

Inside this last room hides a thriving garden of flowers. From wall to wall, there are beautiful displays of exotic plant varieties, from wild poppies, frangipani, and orchids to many different colored rose bushes and fragrant jasmine plants.

In the center of the garden is an enormous banyan tree, with many dragon Pokémon hiding in the branches. Pools of clear water glimmer in many pockets of the garden, giving the whole place an ethereal look. 

You look at a family of charmander in a tree and smile. But just as you’re about to approach them, you hear a man laugh:

“ _Hello, hello! You’re very cute. Bloody sorry I haven’t been here in awhile.”_

You creep closer, and see the man crouched down on the ground. As he stands up, his raven purple hair sways in the wind. 

_Leon…_

You have a mind to leave without being spotted, but he then asks:

“Was it worth it?” His breathing sends warm spirals of warm air out into the night sky. 

As the wind whips past your face, you keep your gaze straight ahead, pretending not to hear him. For you, the deal _had_ been worth it, but Leon hadn’t let you get a word in edgewise before, so you doubted he’d hear you out now.

The older man turns around to face you. He wears no cape, only his athletic tee shirt and white football tights. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing here when you realize something... 

Wyndon Castle is the Pokémon League headquarters. _That means_ _Leon_ _lives here._

He turns away from the dragons to look at you. “Well, Gloria?”

You pause and consider his question: for the near foreseeable future, you’d have Bede and Leon and Oleana and Rose living under the same roof with you. Meaning you couldn’t very well ignore him forever. 

“So, that bit of trouble Chairman Rose was referring to earlier had your name on it,” Leon says after you. “I can’t say I’m not shocked, Gloria. When I met you in Wyndon, I never imagined you’d be the young woman Rose had set his sights on.”

“Surprise,” you say with no inflection or emotion in your voice. 

The older man puts a hand on your shoulder and whirls you around. You can see his expression has become even _more_ cross since the time he saw you last. “Gloria, I’m talking to you. Was this the only way for you to obtain a sponsorship?“

Growing increasingly annoyed with his entitled attitude, you shake him off.

“Why does it matter to _you_ how I got sponsored?” you ask, annoyed his attitude was souring the beauty of the garden. “Chairman Rose was the only person I’ve ever met willing to give me a sponsorship. No gym leader or Elite Four member was willing to give me the time of day.” 

Leon frowns intensely at you. His gold eyes hold your gaze. “Being sponsored is a big deal here in Galar. Gym Leaders put their names and reputations on the line to vouch for trainers— it’s a living record of a Trainer’s honest love and passion for Pokémon training!”

“I’m a bad influence is what you’re saying,” you say, eyes narrowed at him. Which was probably true, honestly. You doubted you knew Chairman Rose well enough to have anything honest in your heart or head for the man. You got on well enough with him, so that’s all you needed from him in a way of trust.

_As long as you don’t go down into the basement..._

You shudder, but shake it off. Rose had told you his (very simple) conditions. How hard could it be to do what he said and follow his rules?

He matches your confrontational stance, placing his hands akimbo on his hips. “Honest love and passion for the sport is the kind of thing my brother needs. To be set on the right path.”

 _In short, stay clear away from my brother, Gloria._ “What your brother needs isn’t any of my business,” you say. “My dream is to become one of Galar’s shining stars.”

“And marrying Rose will help you further that goal along? You can’t _seriously_ be in love with the man.” 

Your cheeks flush red with shame. Why was Leon so interested in your arrangement with the Chairman?

“How do you know I’m not? Everyone in Galar’s always telling stories about grand heroes, about knights who turn into dragons and princesses who are swept off their feet by princes. Maybe that innocent, cute puppy love isn’t what I’m looking for,” you retort. “Are _you_ willing to give me a sponsorship?”

_There’s only two people with the authority to give two sponsorships per Pokémon League competing year. One is Chairman Rose. The other..._

...is standing in front of you, but he shakes his head. “I’ve already extended my two sponsorships to Hop and another boy from my hometown. Whether he accepts it or not is another story. Victor doesn’t seem like the competitive type, which is a shame.”

“And I suppose you _think_ you’re looking out for my well being? Not threatened at all that Rose sponsored not one, but two people for the Champion Cup in this year’s Rose Bowl?”

His yellow eyes flash. _Careful now._ “ _I_ am more than capable of handling myself around two junior trainers! What _you_ should be wary of is Rose’s intentions.”

Leon looks off at some faraway point in the horizon. “And now you’re in his debt, which is a terrible place to be.” 

“Rather in his debt than in the gutter,” you mutter. More decisively, you look him in the eyes and bite out, “I had _no choice!_ Chairman Rose... has money. In a society like this, everyone in this world exists as something that you can buy. If I don’t have something, he can just buy it for me.”

Suddenly, Leon opens a black checked wallet and drops a pile of gold coins into your hands. They shine golden in the starlight, and they glitter and glint just as fiercely as the gold in his eyes. “Here. Is that what you want? Money? Take it. You can have Rose just _purchase_ the championship for you, then.” 

You narrow your eyes at Leon. _Do I look like a charity case to you?_ “I wouldn’t take _your_ money if it was the last on the planet,” you retort, turning over your palms and dropping the gold, coin by coin, to the ground. If Leon wasn’t angry with you before, he’d be _furious_ now.

“If I wanted to just buy the Championship, don’t you think I would have asked him to do that? We made a deal. I signed a _contract.”_

This statement causes his eyes to light up briefly with alarm, but then they darken with some unfathomable emotion. Soon after, he looks around at all of the roses growing all around in the garden, then carelessly plucks one from a rose bush. Its petals are crimson red, the color of a fine wine.

Leon takes the flower and suddenly and firmly clenches the stem in his fist, drawing blood as the thorns pierce skin and flesh. The dark, viscous blood rolls slowly from his palm down his wrist. “Listen to me. Rose,” he says deliberately, “has learned to project a compassionate face to the world, but bargains with him are _always_ weighed in blood. I told Bede the very same.”

The sight of Leon’s blood is enough to make anyone, man or woman, faint dead away, but you force yourself to look at his hand, and then meet his eyes. If this was some intimidation tactic, you weren’t about to show Leon that you were _scared_ of him.

“ _I’m_ not afraid of any rose. And I’ll fight everyone in Galar before anyone takes my dream away from me. Including you.”

“I look forward to seeing you try,” Leon says, without any hint of mirth in his voice, and he holds out the rose. His hands are warm, but his eyes are cold. “May the best man or woman win.”

You accept the flower and its blood soaked stem. You couldn’t blame Leon for the antagonism, after all:

_He’s on top of the world. I want to turn it upside down.  
_

* * *

  
  
That morning, as you dream, you swim in inky blackness. You watch the woman and the young boy from the supermarket materialize into view, and they now walk in the rain. They are quite the match, the woman’s hair cut in a shapeless brown bob, the boy’s hair hidden underneath a beanie. They both wear shabby clothing. 

Despite their poor appearance, they were holding hands tightly, as if simply holding hands could keep the world at bay. 

You call out to them, but the boy doesn't respond. The woman, however, turns her head to look at you. Her voice is familiar...

_“Glory?”_

But the two apparitions vanish with the break of day. Sunlight streams in through the window, because bright and early, the boy Bede has come to wake you up. He yanks the comforter off of you.

“Get up. Chairman Rose has assigned us our first task of the day.”

You squint at him. “Where?”

“It’s positively criminal, you wasting the time of someone as important as I am...” he mutters. The boy then looks at you as if you’re utterly stupid. “We’re going to go get Wishing Stars.”

 _For what,_ you’re about to ask him, but his frown deepens. Better not to ask too many questions. You sigh. “Okay. Let me get dressed.” 

Bede scoffs. He doesn’t look _particularly_ happy to have gone and fetched you. You guess him doing this was only at Rose’s behest. “Can’t you just wear that?”

 _What?_ “No. These are my pajamas.” 

“Fine. Go get dressed. Don’t take long.” Bede says, not leaving your room. In fact, while you gather your clothes, he’s hovering over you like... well, someone who does a lot of hovering. And it’s getting really irritating.

Then you had an idea. An _evil_ idea. You begin to peel off your pajama pants.

“What-what are you doing?” he asks.

“Changing,” you say simply, pulling off your shirt, leaving only your bra and underwear. You parade around, opening several drawers in the room. “I have the right to change, don’t I? Did you see my clothes—“

“D-d-don’t come ANY closer!” he squeaks, his face as red as a beet. He dives behind the bed. “Your clothes are in the closet or dresser or whatever! Can’t you change like a normal girl?”

 _Oh, right._ You walk over to the dresser. “Do you like this one?” you ask, pulling out a low cut dress. “It’s cute, right?”

Panicked, Bede yells, “How am I SUPPOSED to know?! I’m no authority on girl’s clothing!!”

“I’m going to leave now! Get ready already. I’ll be sure not to waste any more time on you!” he stammers, and slams the door. 

You smile. That got rid of him quick.

Once you’re outside and burning daylight, you ask Bede: 

“How do you find them? The Wishing Stars?”

He doesn’t seem like he wants to tell you. “I’m not in the mood to deal with weaklings. Chairman Rose would only entrust me with this duty if it was important.”

“So he _didn’t_ tell you the reason...?” you ask pointedly.

“What?! No, he did. The Chairman told me that this task was important!” Sufficiently riled up, Bede’s about to about to tell you more in the way of gathering Wishing Stars when...

Then, as the two of you are about to depart Wyndon, you spot a Team Yell member, loafing around near a construction site.

“You can’t be here—“ he says to the two of you. “Team Yell needs those Wishing Stars to help Marnie achieve her goal of being the best ever Champion!”

You roll your eyes. _Give me a break._

Bede smirks. “I feel sorry for my Pokémon, having to deal with such low level opponents, but I’ll handle this. Chairman Rose told me you don’t have any good Pokémon yet—“

But you couldn’t let this go— you recognized this grunt. It was the young man who had grabbed your sweater yesterday night.

You push past Bede, and get all up in the grunt’s face. You then shove him hard, and he falls into the dirt. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” you say quietly. The grunt shrinks back from you. 

_Not so tough when you don’t have your friends backing you up, huh?_

“Get lost,” you say, raising a hand threateningly. Terrified, the grunt takes off with a start. You dust off your clothes.

Bede looks you over, astonished. “...You’re one of the bossiest girls I’ve met.”

You look up. The sky is now a bleak and uniform gray. Gone was the brilliance of the announcement ceremony, with Pokémon Trainers throwing roses into the audience, Leon amongst them.

“I try to get my way,” you say simply, and leave it at that.

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments
> 
> * I couldn’t find anything regarding exactly how many sponsorships gym leaders/elite four/champions are allowed to give out in Galar, so if this is a little inaccurate, I apologize. Consider it a little artistic ‘license’.


	5. Monster Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This monster has two faces._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Miracle of miracles, I’ve doing pretty good with these bi-monthly updates. 
> 
> I’ll try to be consistent with them, but as the story gets more involved, I might need to slow down to give myself a breather. Something something quality control. 
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos are much appreciated! It’s took a bit to get here, but we’re finally getting the story ramped up, so please stick with me! ^^

* * *

  
There aren’t many _universal_ truths in life, but one has held true throughout the ages—

If a person repeats a lie long enough, they start to believe it, even if they know it's false. Humans are scarily easy to manipulate that way: those who _want_ to believe something badly enough generally do.

You were the same way. You _wanted_ Chairman Rose to have a good, reasonable explanation for your collection of the Wishing Stars, and when you were provided with one, you wanted to believe him, so you did. For a while, you did anyway.

 _That_ was where the trouble with the Wishing Stars began.  
  


* * *

Alas, your early morning hunt for the Wishing Stars had gone largely unsuccessful, either due to your inexperience with what they exactly _were,_ or Bede’s continued unwillingness to tell you. Something gave you the feeling that maybe this duty of collecting Wishing Stars was meant to be a one-man show.

Eventually the two of you return to the castle, and then as you open the wooden doors, a flock of maids swarm you, fussing over your clothes and your Pokémon, and why didn’t you stay for breakfast, that it becomes nearly overwhelming.

“Do the people in the castle always act like this?” you whisper. “We’ve only been gone a minute.”

Bede rolls his eyes. “There’s a whole pomp and circumstance to getting ready for the day, ask the Champion. They’ll fuss over you until you’re ready to go nowhere.”

He saved you from that? Huh. 

Bede scoffs when he takes a look at your grateful expression. “Don’t bother trying to thank me. I saved you from having to deal with the maids and their eagerness to waste our time.”

So much for civility. “...where can we find the Chairman now?” you ask one of the maids.

“Oh! Chairman Rose is in a meeting. That’s the meeting room, over there.” the maid points to a door at the far end of the hall. She then smiles pleasantly at you, almost as if she had been planted on this planet to just do solely that, to just smile and be charming and agreeable. Maybe you envied her. Only a little.

As you walk down the hall, you think. Maybe you shouldn’t barge in, like yesterday. Thinking better of it, you lean into the door and press your ear to the old wood.

“ _Eavesdropping?”_ The young boy asks incredulously, scowling at you. You hadn’t realized Bede's followed you. “Chairman Rose would never approve.”

“I can send the maids after you,” you warn, your eyes bouncing off of a nearby housekeeper. “ _Shh_.”

 _Overheard:_ “I’m trying to build something here, Lance. Something that lasts.”

There is a _BANG!_ and the sound of trembling china shaking from side to side in the cabinets. A dragon Pokémon lets out a cry, and you hear a click, and suddenly a Charizard is bellowing back at the creature. You exchange worried glances with Bede, and the two of you press your ears into the door.

“How can YOU say that, given the circumstances? This is _your_ responsibility! YOUR League! These are real trainers we’re talking about!” he yells. It sounds as if the man had slammed his hands down on the table. “Rose, you’re a damn fool if you think I’m going to let this go—“

Leon’s voice, low and fierce. “Then why don’t you act a little foolish right now? Take a moment and collect yourself?”

The other man’s voice adopts the same threatening tone. “Or _what.”_

“Well. If you’re going to go getting so caught up in your anger, then we can have another battle. Right here, if you’d like.”

Leon’s voice then immediately becomes more jovial, becoming the very same Champion you had heard on the airwaves. “What do you say, mate?”

The tension between the two men is so thick, palpable, you can cut it with a knife.

His voice, clear, intimidating. “Guess what they say is right. Someone who’s rotten can’t even tell when something’s rotting away.”

“Yes, because anyone who doesn’t agree with you is a  _fraud_ _._ Brilliant!”

Rose’s voice now, more calming, eager to smooth things over. “On the contrary, dragon master. We’ve built something here in Galar that will last for millennia. It’s a shame you don’t see it that way.”

Your hand hovers over the copper doorknob, and Bede swats it away. “Don’t interrupt the Chairman when he’s in a business meeting,” he hisses. You glare at him.

“What if they’re in trouble?” 

Bede scoffs. “You’re hopeless if you think _you_ can do a better job of protecting the Chairman than the Champion inside.”

”You’re standing here, aren’t you,” you retort. “You’re worried about him too—“

In the midst of your childish squabbling, you don’t notice the golden doorknob turn, and an foreign looking man opens the door, his eyes widening in shock and alarm.

An older man stands before you, arms folded across his chest, his dragonite standing behind him. His red hair juts out of his head like wild plumes of fire, and his dark eyes are deep blue, almost black. On his jumpsuit there’s a pin that says _G-MEN_ on the front, looking very official.

After you come into his line of sight, he grabs your wrists suddenly and looks into your eyes. You jerk away, but his grip holds you fast. _What’s with this guy?_ Both Bede and Leon immediately start for him, but he quickly releases you after only a few moments.

“Sorry. Mistook you for someone else.”

After giving Leon a pointed look, the dragon tamer sighs. “...you may look up to him, but he’s only looking down on you.” His attention then shifts to Chairman Rose. “Consider this a _warning_ , Rose. I’m not going to stop doing my job in anticipation of being told to back off,” he says. 

“And when other members of the international Pokémon League ask what’s going on?” 

He responds coolly, “Like they don’t already know who you are?”

The redheaded man gives you the barest hint of a nod to acknowledge you, but does not offer any words of farewell as he quickly passes you by. 

“Was that…” you turn around to watch the man’s maroon and navy cape trail behind him. He seemed so familiar, like you had seen him on television or something.

Rose clears his throat and fixes his tie. He’s sitting at the round table, legs crossed. “Champion Lance of the _Kanto_ and _Johto_ Pokemon Leagues. You might have seen his match against Leon earlier this month.”

You’re shell shocked. You knew of Chairman Rose’s influence, but you hadn’t ever met someone from Kanto in person: the region was on the other side of the world. “Wow... That’s _amazing!”_

But Rose evidently doesn’t share your opinion. A wrinkle creases his forehead as he scratches his facial hair with a thumbnail. Leon also looks troubled— the dark skin around his knuckles is bleached bright white as he tightly grips the armrest.

You look from Leon to Rose to Leon and then back again. “Is everything... okay?”

The chairman nods. “Yes, Gloria. We were just… having a discussion about the _finer_ points of Galar League regulations.”

Bede elbows you. _See?_ You scowl at him, but then rub your wrists absentmindedly. Lance’s fingers had left bruises, purple-blackish and blue, on your wrists. 

A moment later, Leon’s Rotom Phone buzzes to inform him of a new incoming message. 

“You’d better get that,” the older man advises him, and Leon nods. He gets up from his chair, and after sparing you a brief glance, departs.

Rose folds his hands together. “So, what have the two of you been up to? Oleana informed me that the housemaids couldn’t find either of you for breakfast.”

_There’s a whole pomp and circumstance to getting ready. They’ll fuss over you until you’re ready to go nowhere._

You realize that Bede was trying to spare you from that whole affair of being fussed over while you got dressed, and feel a little kinder towards him, but your stomach growls. You would’ve liked breakfast. 

Besides, you hadn’t been given a good explanation of what you were looking for. “We were looking for Wishing Stars.”

Rose frowns at Bede. “I don’t believe that I ever instructed Bede to bring you along with him.”

_Knew it._

The young boy flushes all the way to the roots of his silvery blond hair. an apology tumbling from his lips— as he explains that he hadn’t really thought about it, but that you needed a Wishing Star for your Dynamax Band and that he wanted to do Rose proud by accomplishing his goal as quickly as possible.

After all of this explanation, Rose smiles. “Well, Gloria needs a Wishing Star for her Dynamax Band anyhow.”

He turns on the television in the room with the click of a remote, A presentation from the Galactic Corporation begins to play…

_‘Falling stars are actually not stars at all. These streaks of light are caused by tiny bits of dust and rock called meteoroids falling into Earth’s atmosphere and burning up. The trail of light the burning meteoroid produces is called a meteor. A falling star that survives passage through the atmosphere is then called a meteorite.’_

It then goes into the history of falling stars in Galar, about how they were considered sacred because of fairytales and the like, and collecting them was a Galar tradition. The fact that the humble rocks power the Dynamax bands seemed incidental, _coincidental_ even.

After the presentation concludes, Rose says he’ll have an associate give you your very own Pokémon, any which one you could possibly want, and your very own Dynamax band, so you could compete in the Rose Bowl. You’re excited by the prospect, but you get the strange feeling that he hadn’t answered all of your questions about the Wishing Stars.

But then Rose asks you, “Do you find that agreeable, Gloria?” and you nod. His inner mind was as strange to you as a jellyfish. It wasn’t like yours. 

* * *

  
  


The rest of the day is spent trying to use your new Dynamax band and training your new Pokémon, _sans_ any help from Bede. He hadn’t been too pleased that you had snitched on him to Chairman Rose, and as such, had spent the day in the castle, sulking and pointedly avoiding you whenever possible. 

Maybe you’re inexperienced, or maybe there’s a flaw with the technology, but you aren’t able to get your Dynamax band working. Frustrated at your inability to get your Dynamax band up and functioning, you continue to train in the grass of the Wild Area. 

Up ahead of you, you spot a familiar ruffle of fur… Hop and his Wooloo are battling against some tough looking Snorlax. He’s not faring well.

Initially, you don’t want to get involved in the battle: you had your own battles to fight, after all. But you’re feeling badly about watching his Wooloo struggle against this Snorlax, and it is pretty cute. You get out your Pokémon and nod to it. _Wait for my signal…_

Just as the Pokémon prepares to land the finishing blow on his struggling Wooloo, you have your own fire off a strong blast, and the Pokémon faints. 

“Nice shot!” he cheers as the Pokémon goes down. “Thanks for that, mate—“

His eyes brighten with recognition, but then dim. “Gloria?”

“That’s right,” you say, returning your Pokémon to its ball. He looks like he’s about to walk over to you…

...but then backs away, like you’re some wild, dangerous creature.

Hop turns his face from you, like he harbors some secret shame. “Lee… said that I shouldn’t talk to you too often.”

You make a show of shrugging, but the fact that Leon had warned his younger brother about you still stings. “It’s fine.”

Hop bounds after you as you trample through the grass. “But! You’re not as bad as you seem, _Glory_ ,” he says. “You really saved my behind back there!”

_Glory! Did you see what your mum went and did?_

“Don’t call me that,” you say suddenly without knowing why. He frowns.

“Um, okay.”

As you continue to walk, stalking a strong looking Pokémon in the desert, your feet leave sandy footprints in the now arid, cracked topsoil. You see a pair of prints just behind you. _Hop’s still following you..._

“What is it?” you ask, whirling around. 

Suddenly embarrassed, he mumbles, “I know I said Lee _told_ me not to make a habit of talking with you, but I don’t really have someone to train with...”

Where was his rival? Wasn’t _he_ supposed to be setting Hop on the right path? 

You couldn’t very well ask him these things, because Hop looks so sheepish and exasperated with himself that you feel bad for ignoring him, and it’s probably for the best that you train with him. You needed the practice before challenging any sort of gym, and it was better for your nerves if you actually battled against other trainers instead of wild Pokémon.

That being said, Hop is terrible at strategy and you pretend to be, something that bothers him a lot more than it does you. He wins a fair amount of battles between the two of you, but you notice that he’s relying on his Dynamax command more and more, fight after fight, mainly as a way of bulldozing through any type disadvantage his Pokémon had.

You watch your Pokémon as it performs a low kick. As the kick passed under the larger Pokémon, it toppled and fell, and it seemed to _really_ hurt. _Something to keep in your back pocket._

After stopping for a quick bite to eat, which really _was_ quick because Hop had tried to impress you with a curry that looked better than it tasted and you really regretted not snatching a pasty at breakfast when you had the chance, you then looked at an alcove just outside of a cave. 

“What’s in there,” you ask him. 

“Oh, it’s probably some super strong Pokémon! Some Wishing Star probably went and landed there.”

You turn at Hop, who shows you his Dynamax Band. “Does this really have a Wishing Star in it?” you ask. He nods. “Do you know where they come from?”

Hop looks up. “I dunno much about it, but Sonia said Wishing Stars fall down for those who have a _true wish in their heart,_ you know.”

“Guess my wishes don’t mean much,” you laugh bitterly, remembering your inability to get any Wishing Stars this morning. His ears turn pink.

“No, I—“

There’s a clap of thunder overhead. Then it begins to pour. 

Hop’s shoulders slouch and he doesn’t move to pull his hood over his head, even as the rain pelts his head. “I-I put my bloomin’ foot in my mouth. Your wishes mean just as much as anybody else’s! I just mean, that’s where they _say_ the Wishing Stars come from, ‘s all.”

He scratches his head and yells into the downpour: “Agh!! I wish I had paid more attention when I was at the lab! It’s just Sonia always goes _on_ and _on_ like her granny and then you can’t get them to _ever_ stop _ever_ , it’s terrible, Lee got _whacked_ with a textbook the last time he fell asleep during a lecture and then he had to explain to Chairman Rose and Oleana why there was such a big ol’ bump on his head!”

You look at him in astonishment, surprised that Hop would go on and on like this in a cold downpour and then you realize that he’s been waiting for someone to lead him around, to show him the way. It was the role his older brother had taken in his life, so it made sense that he would act the same way towards someone else.

You just didn’t understand why it had to be you.

* * *

“Wild Area. Giant Pokémon. _Don’t ask.”_

Heaving a sigh, you drop your muddy, rain soaked belongings at the loamy ground.

Earlier, as you had entered the garden, you had caught sight of Leon sitting under the great tree and your heart had sunk. So much for your own private paradise.

He looked at you from a distance, standing a few paces away his wary, alert gaze seeming to ask: _what, you again? Haven’t I done good enough job scaring you away?_

You stared at him. _Not good enough,_ you had mentally answered back, and then continue walked consciously on the balls of your feet, elevating your posture to seem taller, more intimidating. Many fearsome Pokémon only understood one another so far as they could be trusted not to fight one another. Leon, having been an ace trainer for so long, understood this.

He let you approach, keeping one eye on the Pokémon he was tending and the other on you.

Judging from his behavior towards the Pokémon and wildlife that inhabited the garden, the man was a frequent visitor to this place. Meaning, if you’re going to be able to continue to come to this place, then you’ll need to _attempt_ to be civil to the man. 

You now sit pretzel-legged at the foot of the giant tree in the garden— now hereby dubbed the rose garden— and, cautiously. begin to talk with Leon. Even though you had gotten into a bit of a tiff yesterday (understatement of the blooming century), you had just spent the entire afternoon with his kid brother, and you hardly thought he’d begrudge you that. Despite their gap in age, they _were_ very close.

Leon now judges your appearance as you continue to talk about the enraged Dynamaxed Pokémon in the Wild Area. “...you look roughed-up enough for it, that’s for sure. That part of the Wild Area must be miles and miles long. With no water? No food?”

You cringe. Unless you counted the sheer digestive _mayhem_ that Hop had unleashed on you with his Sour Decorative Curry, which in contrast to how it looked, had a strange, sour taste and filled you with a mysterious feeling when you ate it (read: probably food poisoning), then he was correct. You’d gone without food or drink for the entire day.

Leon tosses you a package labeled _aam papad_ from his knapsack. “...not posh, but a few pieces of that and a bottle of water should have you sorted until you can eat proper.”

“What is it?” you ask him. 

His face twists like he’s trying to find a way to say the words to you in English. He scratches his beard. “Er… most people can’t say it proper. Just have a go at it.”

You peel open the packaging and cautiously taste the dried fruit. It has a peculiar initially chalky taste, but it seems to go well with the sweetness of the mango. You’re halfway through the bag when you get an odd sort of feeling in your chest, and you put down the dried fruit. 

Leon looks over at you. “Not on board with the taste?”

You shake your head and examine the packaging. “No. It’s…” 

How did this course of events make any kind of sense? Yesterday, Leon had practically tried to move mountains in an attempt to get you to refuse Rose’s sponsorship while telling you to stay away from his kid brother. Today, he’s amicably chatting with you about said brother’s day while fussing with you over your _health._

And men say they don’t understand women.

“You told your little brother to stay away from the big, bad wolf. And now you’re asking her how his day’s been.”

Leon frowns. “Gloria.”

“No, I get it. I _get it.”_

Uncharacteristically serious, Leon says quietly, “You don’t. Not really, you don’t.”

His thumbs tapping the top of his thighs in a repetitive but indiscernible rhythm, he continues: “Galar has never been anything but a safe place for Hop. The little chap can’t imagine a world where that won’t always be true,” Leon says sadly, talking to himself now; it’s like you’re not even there. He looks at you then, searching your face for something he’s sure he’ll find there. 

“...it’s natural that Hop wants to explore the world around him, wants to come to the castle, but once you get started _twisting things around,_ you may never get them untwisted.“

 _Twisting things... around?_ You look at Leon, trying to piece together the meaning of his words, but they honestly made more sense separately than strung together in a sentence. 

After a period of time where he’s looking at you, Leon then sighs. “More importantly... Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine,” you say insistently. His dark brows knit together. 

You flinch as he moves over to you and touches your forearms. Leon’s concept of personal space is drastically different from yours, in the sense that you actually _had_ one. He turns over your wrists, which were still bruised since Lance had grabbed you this morning. 

“They’ll heal up. But you could draw lines on yourself with the mud on you!”

“So could you,” you retort, looking him up and down. He’s not exactly a sight for sore eyes; his own normally pristine shirt and leggings combo is dotted with sweat and grass-stains.

“Well! I know just the ticket to getting rid of that—“ Deftly, he tugs at his collar, and pulls his athletic shirt over his head, leaving his chest bare, then pulling down his white leggings, and then—

You don’t bother finding out. You take one, two, three steps back, ducking behind the tree trunk. Was this _karmic payback_ of your torment of Bede this morning? How could Leon just undress in front of a stranger? Is this what all guys _did?_

Bede’s face, red with shame, immediately springs to mind. Definitely NOT.

“W-What’s gotten into you?” you babble like some flustered moron, annoyed at yourself for acting like this. “Are you _mental_?”

Leon just rolls his eyes at you and dives into a pool of water. “Going for a swim! Great bloody day for one!”

“You _could_ get that off if you washed up,” he points to your mud-caked arms and legs, and wades towards you.

The sound of diving into the cool, deep water sounds tempting enough, until you nearly trip over your own two feet on his boxers. 

Surprised and more embarrassed than you’d like to admit, you yelp out loud, and Leon stands up in the shallow end of the pond in response. Down below where his hipbones formed a V shape in the lower half of his torso were a series of scars, knotty and pale against his dark skin. You put a hand in front of your eyes, not trusting yourself to look any lower than that. 

_Not looking. NOT LOOKING._

“Don’t take another step! Can’t you just... put on some _pants_?” you say, stepping over the loamy ground to shield your face with a broad leaf, pointedly avoiding view of his undoubtedly nude body. If he thinks you’re about to go skinny dipping with some stranger, well, he was more _mental_ than you had given him credit for. 

Leon spits out some water and grins. “Can’t do that if they’re on the shore!” As he does a backstroke in the water, his swift strokes smooth and clean, you notice from the little gaps in the _monstera_ leaf that little wiry black hairs jut out from his legs and slick down his chest.

 _So, only the hair on his head’s violet,_ you muse briefly, but quickly knock that thought faster out of your head than a football player kicking a ball into the net in a clean line drive. You don’t think thoughts like that. Not you. And especially not about someone whose fan club was probably so crazy they’d gut any girlfriend of his from end-to-end. Like a _fish._

“Liking what you’re seeing?” he laughs. “Come in for a swim if you’re feeling brave! Promise no Pokémon will come and take a bite out of you!”

Interesting he hadn’t put the possibility of a human doing so out of mind. You flush from your hair to the tips of your toes. You yell:

“When you’re done, you want your clothes?” 

He nods. 

_Oh, I’ll give you your clothes._

As you’re insulting him, shouting _you! nasty! tosser!_ , you throw his leggings, and his shirt, his shorts, and finally his socks into the pool of water like you’re a knight dodging enemy arrows, taking a few steps, then throwing a garment at him, another few steps, another article of clothing in the water.

By the time you’re finished, the man’s good and angry: apparently some of your clothes tossing had missed their mark. Oh well. A sock on his head, Leon then sputters, “Gloria! How’m I going to get dressed now? You _bloody_ well tossed ALL of my clothes into the pond!”

“I did a good job,” you say, your chin defiantly jutting out. “Now you can get dressed—“

But then Leon crawls up and out of the water after you, his arms outstretched like that monster from the Pokestar movie, _Attack of the 50 Foot Whatever._ Or maybe _Kingdra Kong?_

“Ah! Don’t chase me!” you laugh as his feet pound on the wet earth. “Don’t you know I’m _helpless_ and _clumsy_ and _not_ very fast—“

He growls: “That helpless act will work on Rose, but if you think it’d work on me, you’ve got something else coming!”

As you evade him, your eyes look from side to side. Coiled like a snake in the side of the topiary is a plastic garden hose, artificially green and synthetic. You dash to it and your hands turn the little rusty knob that connects the water valve to the hose. Your pants catch on the metal attached to the knob, however, and you have to peel them off before the mechanism will complete the turn. 

Leon backs away from you a little once he catches sight of you with hose in hand. You didn’t know why— it’s not like he had fire at the tip of _his_ tail. “What? What do you mean to do with that? Don’t tell me—“

You undo the spigot, spraying the hose at his chest, grinning, triumphant. “I’ve called animal control and they said it’s time to go!”

But Leon’s strong: _really_ strong. He walks all the way through the spurt of water until it begins to run dry, and finally tackles you once the hose’s outpour has lessened to a mere trickle.

For a moment, no one says anything, and you look up at him, his stubbly chin almost close enough to scrape against your forehead. You feel an enormous strength there, in his firm muscled body. Little droplets of water and sweat cling to his wind-burned chest, which was now beginning to heave with laughter. As it dawns on you that he’s laughing ( _really_ laughing!) two of you double over, clutching your sides as you catch your breath between spurts of laughter.

Leon flicks a drop of water at you with his damp fingertips. “The hose, really?”

So maybe you had made a mistake in thinking that a trainer with fire type Pokémon wouldn’t like water. Guilty as charged. But it hadn’t been a bad strategy at the time, you thought. About to say something to that point, you open your mouth to respond to Leon, but then you see a man on the far side of the stream, just outside of the garden entrance, wearing a gray business suit. _Rose._

You take off from his bare-armed clutches quicker than a deer pursued by a hunter, and adjust your garments, feeling suddenly shameful in your underwear. Once you’ve stepped outside the iron confines of the garden, the Chairman smiles kindly at you. “I see you’ve discovered the private rose garden. Are you enjoying yourself?”

You don’t know if he’s chastising you, but Rose doesn’t seem to be much bothered, so you nod. “Yes! I hadn’t known places like this could exist in _real life!”_

“It’s as real as you or me.” He holds an arm out for you and nods in the direction of the castle hallway. “I have a dinner appointment with some business associates at Wyndon General. I’ll lock the door and you can come with me to dinner.” 

Rose hadn’t asked, so it wasn’t a question of you going or not. You nod and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

It’s only after you watch the iron key turn in its lock, as the click bolts the locking mechanism shut that you realize Rose—

—hadn’t seen Leon.

For a moment, you look back over your shoulder at the young man. Fox-yellow pupils gaze at you from the dappled darkness of the banyan tree. Leon stands there in the shade looking at you, his face partially hidden by the foliage, one hand on the tree trunk, the other hand limply by his side. At least he had some sense to put on his boxers, which were a plain black with the Galar shield printed just above his scarred hip.

But as you looked back at Leon helplessly, you saw something swirling in his eyes then, and you didn’t have the good sense to tell what it was.

It was hatred.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments:
> 
> 1\. _Aam papad_ : a Indian dried fruit leather. It’s most often made with mango.
> 
> 2\. Whew. Okay, so, Game Freak make Leon, Hop and Rose _very_ ambiguously brown, so I have no idea if they’re from South America, SE Asia or the Indian subcontinent. Let’s just say they’re ethnically Indian, because the UK has a lot more immigrants from that subcontinent, as well as borrows a lot from India culturally. 
> 
> I won’t be referring to India as such in the story, but it’s more for a ‘the more you know’ sort of thing. 
> 
> ╮( ˘ ､ ˘ )╭
> 
> 3\. Another anime reference, but this Lance is more like his GSC/ PokéSpecial counterpart than HGSS or any version of him that appears in the anime. He still battles Leon and loses.
> 
> 4\. There are hospitals and Pokémon Centers in Galar (a distinction _with_ a difference!), so Wyndon General is referring to Wyndon General Hospital.


	6. Destiny’s Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This heart’s a cage I built, never knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the two-part update.

* * *

  
“Congratulations for getting your first badge! Come, let’s have a toast,” Rose raises his wine glass. “To young Bede, who displayed the finest battling that I’ve had the pleasure of seeing in a while! And to young Hop, whose skill with Dynamax almost rivals his brother—“ 

His speech concludes amidst the crowd’s applause. Many, including gym leaders and citizens of the city, have gathered here to celebrate the conclusion of the first hurdle for the contestants—Turffield’s gym. 

Wyndon Castle this evening is abuzz with activity after the first set of contestants have received their badges from Milo, the gym leader. As you sit there in the majesty of the grand hall, Chairman Rose patting Hop and Bede on the back, you feel weirdly put out that Rose hadn’t mentioned you at all in the congratulatory speech.

You look towards him, and Rose is now conversing with the Champion. “Ah, of course. No doubt another grand championship match. You do Galar proud—“

Oleana walks over to you, her tiny feet in high-high- _high_ heels, and comes to sit at your table.

“Tea,” the older woman says mildly, handing you a mug.

You stare at it. Nobody else had been offered such a drink by Oleana. “I’m not thirsty.” 

The slight wrinkle that had been developing between her brows deepens at your refusal to drink the tea. Oleana glowers at you and then sets the tea cup down firmly for emphasis. _Drink it,_ her expression seemed to be demanding. _Drink it or you’ll be sure to regret it._

You peer into the mug of steaming liquid. Dried angelica buds float in the discolored liquid. “I don’t want to,” you insist angrily. “You can’t make me.”

She looks very much like she would like to. “The pokemon and technology you have received is no ordinary gift, silly girl. Mister Rose always expects to be _paid back_ on time.”

Paid back? Whatever did she mean? Was this yet another test for you to fail?

“I said no,” you say, more loudly now. The weight of others’ stares starts to bear down on you. Even Rose and Leon, who had been quietly conversing amongst themselves, cease their conversations as they look towards you and Oleana.

Finally fed up with your obstinacy, the older woman pulls you aside into the darkness of the castle hall. “Mister Rose is very displeased with you. You’ve spit on all of our hard work with a few of your idealistic words and your refusal to Dynamax.”

From the little tidbits of information you had been gathering around the hall, you knew that Oleana had been one of the primary researchers into creating the Dynamax band, and so must feel particularly slighted at your decision not to use the mechanic. 

“You could have beaten Turffield’s Gym Leader easily had you used Dynamax,” she continues, a question in her unforgivingly light colored eyes.  
  
_Lie or tell the truth?_ You didn’t expect to be torn over which was the right way to answer. “It was to inspire the children,” you reply defiantly. _There, not a lie._

But she’s not letting the subject go. “You have forgotten that it was the Chairman _himself_ who endorsed you. He will want you to use every asset of his to win.”

“Is that why Rose won’t speak of me?” you whisper in a low rasp. “He’s angry that I won’t play his game? Is that what you want me to do to make it up to him? You want me to _screw_ him—“ 

Oleana strikes you then, right across the face. Her fingernails have raked across your face and drawn blood. 

“I won’t be the one to take you to the clinic,” she hisses, her lovely face twisted into a horrid bared-teeth snarl. “Drink. It. Angelica is an mild abortifacient, so you won’t feel much pain—“

Your temper catches and flares until you could no longer control it.

“I don’t want to feel any pain at all,” you retort, splashing the hot tea in her face, and do an about face as you flee out of the hall amidst her enraged screams.

* * *

  
_Earlier that day, at the Turffield Gym:_

After defeating Milo’s first Pokémon, you press your Dynamax band. His Gossifleur had wrecked havoc on your team, and you were on track to suffering a painful defeat if the battle didn’t turn around, quick.

But...

Nothing. The screen is still black with inactivity.

This whips up a frenzy of whispers from the crowd...

> _What’s up with her Dynamax band?_
> 
> _Can she not Dynamax?_

“Lee, what’s going on...?” Hop whispers to his brother. They’re both seated high up above the crowd in Turffield Stadium’s personal box seating, immediately to the front of the stadium stage. “Why isn’t she Dynamaxing her Pokémon? She’s going to lose…”

The Galar Champion folds his arms across his broad chest and frowns. “It wouldn’t be the first time...”

“Usually the trainers who can’t or won’t Dynamax get knocked out by the end of the first gym. It’s a grueling challenge for the best of the best,” Leon whispers to his brother.

Milo whistles as he watches you stare helplessly at the field. “Given up?” he asks.

“Okay, if you’re not going to...” Milo throws a giant pokeball into the air, and his Gossifleur becomes huge, rippling with some kind of energy that surrounded it. It then launches off an incredibly strong attack that stuns you and your Pokémon, then knocks you back on your feet and down flat on the ground. 

As you worm about helplessly on the ground, you cry into the topsoil and bang your fists into the ground. That attack had damn near knocked the wind out of your lungs. It hurts to breathe. The crowd boos and jeers as tears run from your face.

_That’s right. Why don’t you just lay down in the bloody dirt and quit and just cry and cry and cry about it then, the hell. Things went badly and you’re a stupid, helpless girl whom things go badly for. That’s it; that’s the end, sorted._

> _Come on..._
> 
> _Get up!_
> 
> _Up and at ‘em!_
> 
> _Get UP, GLORIA!_

And another voice, softer, heart-achingly kind:

> _Where did_ _….your spirit go?_

Trying to find your footing, you stumble around on the lawn sprawl for a few moments, but summoning up all your strength, you get up from the blow that had sent you and your Pokémon reeling. 

Milo blinks. Clearly he hadn’t expected you to keep going. “It’s okay to give up, you know. Ain’t no shame innit.” You beat your chest once, twice, to get the air flowing into your lungs and you let out a shout. The crowd ripples with whispers and murmurs.

 _I can’t give up. Won’t give up._ _My spirit’s here._

_It’s right HERE!_

You look Milo in the eye. “...I don’t need to Dynamax.” This proclamation of yours sends a ripple of shocked exclamations through the crowd...

> _Did she just say...?_
> 
> _...she doesn’t NEED to Dynamax?!_
> 
> _Dynamax is a PROUD Galar tradition!_
> 
> _There’s no way she’s winning now!_

Shocked, you hear the announcer exclaim:

“Trainer 004 is still going, even though she’s not going to Dynamax her pokemon? That puts her at a severe disadvantage against Turffield’s gym leader! Does she have any hope of winning this gym battle?”

Your resolve solidifies as you clench your fists. You look up at the Chairman, then tear your eyes away from Oleana, Bede, and Hop, finally coming to rest at Jon and the assembled group of hospital children. 

_“I wish I could be as strong as you.”_ Remembering the young boy’s words, you ball your hands into fists.

_Dynamax... is just a weak gimmick that bad trainers use to get away with having bad strategy!_

You look up and grin at the projected image of yourself on the screen, a scared girl no longer. “Everyone…! I’ll show you all the inner strength of a trainer who doesn’t _need_ the power of Dynamax to prevail!”

* * *

“...ran away?” Bede asks, looking down at you. The wind from the balcony musses up his mousy blond hair.

You nod. _You too?_

The boy scoffs. “They’re all wasting their breath on an unimpressive victory of mine. It got boring so I left.” He then hands you a dish towel and you wipe the blood off your face. “Oleana’s still shrieking. The Champion and Rose have tried to get everything to have the woman calm down, but it’s no use. You’d think she never spilled hot tea on her lap before.”

You smile at the last part, and hand the stained towel back to him. “Thanks,” you say. 

Bede stands next to you, but not too close. “Why are you here?” 

You hug your knees. “I just... came here to think of my mum. I only have memories of her from when I was five, so...” you admit, looking up at the stars. “I just wanted to watch her from afar.”

Bede looks at you then. “Hmph. You’re lucky. I don’t even remember my parents. Chairman Rose saved me from living my life in an _orphanage.”_

“I’m sorry,” you’re about to say, but the defiant, prickly expression on Bede’s face indicates he thought even less of people that pitied him than the parents that had abandoned him.

Jon crawls up onto the roof. His little knees are scabbed from the effort. “M-my parents didn't visit me in the hospital much after I got sick. That’s terrible.... how could they abandon you?”

Bede simply shrugs, as if life worked out the way it was meant to in the end. 

But you’re alarmed at Jon’s suddenly being here. How did Jon get on the roof? Wasn’t he supposed to be asleep in his room?

“I got lonely,” the boy says sadly after you inquire. “B-but Gloria... Why haven’t you ever gone out looking for your mum? You’re older than both of us...”

You can hear tinny, faint sounding celebratory music from the houses down below. Several people, smartly dressed in suits and dresses, mill about in the streets just outside Wyndon Castle. 

Even though he’s young and innocent and kind and doesn’t deserve to know about the cruelty of adults, you can’t bring yourself to lie to Jon. You laugh and it escapes as a pained, forced sound. “What’s the use? After all.. she was going to give me up, so what’s the use of introducing myself to her…?” 

The three of you sit together on the floor, knee to knee, head to head. You hug your shoulders for warmth and get up. “I’m going down.”  
  


* * *

  
The wind fiercely blows, and you jerk your head up and the elastic of your ponytail snaps, leaving your hair to flow all around you. There’s some kind of inexplicable expression on the Chairman’s face... you turn away to look at the battlefield. 

_No one’s going to believe in me but me, so I’m going to be the strongest me I know I can be._ _And if a Pokémon Dynamaxes… that just means..._

You look up.

_Just means… they’re..._

_...a bigger target!_

You point to the gigantic gossifleur, made huge with some kind of rippling energy, “And the bigger they are...”

“...the harder they fall!”

People mouth:

> _What is she saying?_
> 
> _Is she mad?_
> 
> _Is this some new strategy?_

Remembering your fight with the Snorlax in the wild area, you command your Pokémon to use the same low kick, and a huge gust of wind shakes the stadium as the Pokémon collapses under its own weight and its hit points rapidly deplete to zero. 

The crowd is shocked into stunned silence, and you smile at all those gathered.

_And that’s bye-bye, Gossifleur._

Almost bursting to life after their long held silence, the crowd roars and hoots amidst the announcer’s shocked proclamation. _Unbelievable! A turnabout victory from underdog challenger…._

Confetti launches into the air as Milo hands you your first badge. He’s shaking your hand… and goodness, his hands are _massive_. They engulf yours as he shakes your two hands clasped in his.

He grins, and his pupils open up wide. “As soon as you said that you didn’t _need_ Dynamax, I knew that spelled beginning o’ the end for me! You’re a little cheeky, aren’t you? Take this!”

The badge shines in the light. You take it and hold it up to the crowd, and they cheer.

But the faces of your fiancé and those surrounding him are curiously... unhappy.

After your victory, some people mill about in the lobby. _They’re_ _probably waiting for all of the matches to be over…_

> _Wow..._
> 
> _Did you see that?!_
> 
> _You go, number four!_

A sweaty athlete’s scent wafts all around you, your tank top plastered to your wet stomach. You ache to peel off this clothing. You lift off your tank top and walk out with merely a sports bra and your shorts on, towel around your shoulders. Then, a voice from the assembled crowd murmurs, pointing to you:

“Is that her?”

“It is!”

Oh, stars. You want to duck and hide, but there’ll be no hiding from the Galar paparazzi. 

“Gloria!” a female reporter calls to you. “Can we get an interview?!”

 _Not before you’ve put your top back on,_ you think, quickly shoving your top back on. 

“You’ve become a minor celebrity,” the newscaster muses. “And not just because of your engagement to the Chairman of the Pokémon League. How does it feel, winning your first badge?”

“Okay,” you say, blinded by the flashing lights. _Could you get these cameras out of my face?_

“Not many trainers have tried to go through the Rose Bowl without Dynamaxing,” the reporter says. Multiple camera bulbs go off in your face and leave spots of green, red, blue in your field of vision. “Do you intend to go the entire tournament without using this crucial mechanic? The world champion doesn’t just Dynamax, but he uses another even more advanced form of the skill—“ 

You shake your head. “I don’t know about that, but... not everyone can Dynamax. I want to show that it can be done... that anyone can succeed in the Rose Bowl if they really try. Not just those who have the privilege of a Dynamax band.”

At this statement, a young lady with black twin tails whips her head around, looking your way. You catch Marnie’s gaze, and you see...

...in those eyes…

...a tiny glimmer of respect? 

As your eyes lock, she lifts her head in a way of greeting you, but then looks away as she walks out.

“...aaand that’s all she has time for today, sorry!” a boy’s voice says. The camerawoman wheels her gigantic camera around and smiles crookedly at the identity of the voice.

“ _Why_ , it’s the Champion’s little brother! Can we get a statement? What did you think of this year’s challenge? Was it too easy?”

“No, it was a bit of all right, and no,” Hop says, pulling you from the press’s clutches and into a side street. 

Hop and another boy his age smile. “They’re like _vultures_ , aren’t they?” the young man you don’t recognize asks. You nod.

Hardly able to keep still, Hop stamps his feet into the ground. “That... was so COOL! If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re my rival, I’d be your biggest fan right now!”

“Thanks,” you say, but then motion to the boy beside him. “...but who is this?”

“Oh, this is Victor. Victor, Gloria. Victor’s my neighbor in Wedgehurst!”

You look more closely at the boy. _Victor? The boy who was disqualified?_

Victor’s a honest-looking boy with chestnut brown hair and chestnut brown eyes. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “...thought you were mad, but clearly your madness is good for winning gym battles,” he says agreeably. 

Neither him nor Hop seem perturbed by anything regarding his disqualification, so you figured that Hop either didn’t know his friend had been disqualified or didn’t want to admit the truth of it to you. 

“That’s _all_ it’s good for,” you laugh. Hop grins.

“Wish you could’ve been there in the crowd with us, Glory! Lee got SO pumped, his left leg does the shakes when he gets all riled up— and I even heard some kids in the crowd mimicking you! _The inner strength of a trainer who doesn’t need Dynamax to prevail..._ why, you could put it on a tee shirt and sell it, I reckon!” 

“Thanks?” You blink and tuck your hair behind your ears. _Leon.. was watching you?_

Before you can ask Hop about his older brother, Victor pulls Hop’s fur hood over his head playfully. “Why not? They’ve already got your big brother’s bloomin’ face on _every_ drink cup in Galar.”

“Hey, Lee‘s got a _brilliant_ face—!”

“Course you’d say that,” he replies matter of factly and nods in the direction of a young woman headed your way. “Hey, Sonia.”

“Thank the stars I finally found both of you!” she pants, sweat beading her forehead. Had she run here? She then looks down at you. “Is this her? Gloria?”

“In the flesh,” Victor says.

You take the appearance of Sonia in. Pearly, heart shaped barrettes carefully pin back mounds of red waves of hair. Mascara is carefully applied to her upper eyelashes, and her yellow petticoat, adorned with tortoise shell buttons, was flirty-short and cute. 

Not short as in your competing uniform, which threaded the line of short and _indecently_ short. You’d petition Oleana for a better fitting one later. 

“...not as pretty as the online articles say,” you admit as she looks you up and down. 

Sonia laughs, a happy, open sound. “Not extremely pretty, exactly. But _very_ striking! I know that if I met you once, I’d be able to pick you out in a crowd.”

You move to cover your upper body with the short towel. She’s staring...

Sonia thinks to herself briefly, then shakes her head. “...sorry for staring! I was just thinking you really look a lot like someone I’ve seen around Grandma’s lab.” The young lady grins and lifts up her stylish sunglasses, revealing two very blue eyes. “Anyways! I wish you’d been able to meet my grandmother. I wish she was here! She doesn’t like to go outside Wedgehurst too much. Says it hurts her calluses.”

“Professor Magnolia sent you here?” Hop asks her, incredulous. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing research for the Pokémon Lab?”

“That’s right!” Sonia sighs, looks up, and breathes out. “But then Granny told me, _‘Sonia! That young lady shows gumption I haven’t seen in SOME years! Drag your sorry tush down to Turffield and make your acquaintance!’”_

A smile breaks across your face. You liked this iron willed old lady and her a little-bit-less iron willed daughter. “Your grandma said that?” _About me?_

The older girl blows air out of her pursed lips. “Mmm. And then I told her about you being Rose’s fiancée, and well, she didn’t take to _that_ too well.”

“Probably peppered some curses in there for him,” Victor laughs and there’s something familiar about his eyes that you can’t quite place and it makes your heart hurt. “Professor Magnolia never _did_ like him...”

Sonia rubs her arm, a nervous tic. “Granny did. At least she used to.”

Hop cheers, “Aww, never mind that! We’ve gotta celebrate getting our first badge! I’ve swiped Lee’s debit, let’s go get some seafood curry—“

“Hop, don’t say that: Leon _gave_ that card to you, mate.”

“Sure counts as swiping if I didn’t _earn_ it—“

You look round at all of them in half wonder, half confusion. You think, is what that’s like—to have friends, to have friends like these? You think, every day, was it possible to get up and get on with your day, and it would be, what, another adventure? Was that really possible for someone like you? 

_That’s what my brother needs. To be set on the right path._

No. Not for someone like you. You are forgetting who you are and you are thinking that you can be someone other than who you are. 

And that possibility just wasn’t possible for someone like you.

Leon’s words echoing in your mind, you back away from the three of them. “You all go ahead. I… I have to get back to the castle.”

The young boy whines, “Aww! You’re sounding JUST like him now, Gloria. Always ‘I’ve gotta go to the castle’ or ‘I’ve got a meeting with Chairman Rose’ or ‘I’ve got a championship match’ or something or other with Lee!”

Well, you were going to be married to Rose, so maybe your circumstances were a bit different.

Sonia looks at you a bit curiously. “Is everything okay?”

Your face quirks as if you’re trying out a number of expressions and you say, “No. It’s nothing.”

* * *

  
  
Well after the celebration is over and you’re in your bed, you toss and turn in your bed as the words of the party’s inhabitants echo in your ears.

_He always expects to be paid back on time..._

_He saved me from an orphanage._

Summoning up your nerve, you knock once, twice on the wood grained door that you knew was Rose’s room. After the third knock, the older man answers his door. His diamond earrings are missing and his usually coiffed hair is slightly disheveled from having just showered. “Gloria. I was just about to head to bed.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, and you push past him into his room.

_I feel so hollow._

You shut the door behind you and turn to face him. You have a throaty voice, now almost unrecognizable to your own ears. “I’m lonely.”

He smooths your hair, and beckons you to him with a wave of his hand. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Come here.”

As you enter the room, you realize you don’t have any clear picture of him, not of his face, just of his figure, broad, shadowed, barely illuminated by the moonlight.

After climbing into his bed, you place a hand on his groomed chest. You think, _do not look at him, do not look at his face._ You need him here, you just can’t be alone tonight, and you begin to shake your head because you hate that this is who you are to him. To the entire world.

You pitch onto hands and knees and inch toward him, putting your hand on his leg. 

The older man grimaces, as if it’s sad the way things are, and he would change it if he could, but can’t. He whispers:

“I‘d like to... fill the hole inside of you, if you’ll let me.”

You should have figured that this was the natural consequence of things. Your voice cracks. You hate how wounded you are, deeply and terribly wounded you are.

“Can you do that for me?”

As he drops his pants and enters you, you put your knuckles inside your mouth to keep from sobbing.

* * *

On the bottom level of Wyndon there is a posh hotel, complete with resplendent Victorian architecture, beautiful stained glass windows, and fancifully dressed valets. It is named Rose of the Rondelands, the thought being that the Rondelands was a splendid, mythical place that only existed in Galar fairytales, and a flower that blooms in fairytales must be the most beautiful of them all. 

Because of its name and status, the hotel exists as a place that only the very elite in Galar can spend the night. 

A secret agent chews the end of his pencil as he wonders how he’ll convince his superiors to foot the bill of this stay. His former superior had insisted on austerity, to the point of staying in the cheapest island motels possible, and this place was lavish, bordering on extravagant. The art on the walls is painted with thick, vibrant paint, the upholstery lined with luxurious fur and leather. 

As he contemplates this thought while listening to the audio in front of him again, his guest makes his arrival. 

“Champion Lance,” Looker stands up to greet him. 

“Yo,” a man in his mid thirties, stress lining his eyes, takes a seat at the mahogany chair in front of him. He’s looking harried. “You take a look at the photos and video I sent over?”

Looker smiles grimly. “I did. It’s very... interesting. And _very_ premeditated.”

Lance spreads the photos all around the table. His facial features sharpen as he frowns. “So, given the evidence I’ve presented you with… there’s no way they’re not _fixing_ the battles. These match cards don’t add up. Not at all. And there was a satellite dish at the time at the battle, up on the roof, playing an odd signal.”

“It’s certainly possible…” he says. “But that antenna and satellite dish can not be new. I took care of looking up the serial number when I visited the stadium. It’s an older model, from…”

“...well, you _must_ know.”

Lance smiles wryly. “Not broke, why fix it? Giovanni probably gave it to the Chairman out of the goodness of his heart from the wreck in Mahogany Town. Spread the fun around and all.”

“It’s probably been going on like this for… at least three years.” The Johto Champion sighs again. The figure was a stab in the dark, a made-up number. “What do you think?”

Looker exhales. “What do I believe? If a person believes one is acting in the pursuit of justice and fighting evil, their brain can trick themselves into doing things they consider to be unthinkable.”

“You have personal experience.” 

Looker pauses, as if he is recalling something painful. “...I did, briefly. But those days and... _that man_ are far behind me.”

“I will give you my personal opinion. What is currently occurring in the Champion Cup is very premeditated. I hardly believe the trainers going missing aren’t connected.”

Something like hope lights up the dragon tamer’s deep, still blue eyes. “Do you think... _Kris...?”_

Looker grimaces. “I found no evidence of the girl trainer from New Bark Town having stepped foot in this region, if that will reassure you. Only the trainers we discussed earlier.”

He heaves a sigh. “Okay. Could’ve guessed. Not the worst case scenario.” Lance pulls his cape over him. “It’s your decision whether you want to pursue this, then. I’m needed in Johto, and Galar is _your_ home turf.”

“Ah, but… The region has changed since I’ve returned. Chairman Rose has his fingers in so many pies that it will be hard to conduct an unobstructed investigation.” Looker rubs his temples. “Is there... anyone close to the Chairman that we can use?”

Lance runs a hand through his fire-red hair. “That’s just it. _Those three trainers he surrounds himself with..._ Bede, Oleana and Leon are faithful and loyal to Rose. They won’t betray him. Neither will any of the gym leaders. He puts food in their mouths and pays their rent. I wouldn’t, I were them. He’s good at getting what he wants out of things, including people and Pokémon.”

Another video plays on the flat screen TV. A girl with a rose-red smile and clever eyes grins at the crowd. 

“What about…”

“...her?”

‘ _I’ll show you all the inner strength of a trainer who doesn’t need the power of Dynamax to prevail!’_

The air is heavy with silence as the video concludes.

“I believe,” Looker then says quietly, “that you might have found our ‘in’.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments:
> 
> 1\. Yeah, about this not being connected to Backpfeifengesicht... I lied. Whoops! Sorry. I’m (kind of) full of shit. 
> 
> 三三ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> 2\. If you seriously expect me to believe that Leon won against Lance and Kukui didn’t... I, uh, heh. That’s all.


	7. Prosperity Gospel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It all rolls downhill from here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2 of the two-part update. I’ll try to get Chapter 7 up by next weekend.

* * *

“...so, thanks to your _generous_ contribution, we’ve just added another wing to Wyndon General.” the hospital administrator, a ginger haired man of some years, explains. “There are many more play areas for the children. I remember that being particularly important to you.”

Rose smiles and squeezes your hand. “You know me too well by far.”

 _Shortly after_ you’d left the garden room, Rose had left you to get decent to attend dinner with him. Rummaging through the clothing Oleana had bought for you during your excursion to the city, you then decided to change into something more suitable for the evening, an cream-white sundress with a hem that stopped three inches short of your knees. It was still summer; it wouldn’t be too chilly in the evening for a sundress.

It’s not long before you’re sitting down at one of the finest restaurants in Galar. You’d always dreamed of being served at this restaurant, and now that dream was a reality. 

“It’s high in cholesterol and saturated fat,” the older man says to you after hearing of your order of a steak. “Many young women might opt for something else.”

“Gloria likes to enjoy herself,” Rose says to you, and his smile grows wider. At least he understood you.

“I’ll be dead in 100 years anyway,” you say, cutting into your steak. 

He looks from you to Rose and back again in amazement. “She’s not like the women that you usually take an interest in.”

“We met via… how shall we say some convoluted circumstances.” Rose smiles, but doesn’t elaborate beyond this. He twists the face on his gold watch.

The older man blinks. “In the amount of time that I’ve gotten to know him, I’ve always known Chairman Rose as very future-minded.”

“He’s always got some plan hatching, some new business deal ready to go through. I dare say no one in their right mind could refuse the man when he’s got his hooks in them,” the doctor laughs.

“Exempting the CEO of Lysandre Labs,” Rose laughs, making a _c’est la vie_ gesture with a wave of his hand. “It pains me to say this, but he was very… how shall we say, resistant to my attempts to buy the plans for the Player Search System and Holocaster from his laboratories. He was kind enough to send me off, I’ll grant him that. _Brûle en l’enfer,_ his parting words.”

His business partner clicks his tongue. “Oh, Rose. Don’t mind that sorry bloke, Lysandre. People like him just won’t be happy until they’ve lost every last dime. It’s a _dark heart_ behind that business, and no question about it.” 

They go on to discuss matters of business over fine wine and finer food, you sitting there, having nothing to say and even less to provide in the way of conversation. 

He slaps his thigh and laughs. “I’m always losing money when I’m with you, Rose. Yet there’s always a beautiful woman on your arm and a business deal to be made for you. How do you do it?”

“Hmm, I can hardly surmise it myself,” he laughs. “I’m afraid my parents haven’t given me a handsome face.”

The waitress, a waifish slip of a woman, then drops off their cheque. Rose’s companion snatches the chequebook before he can argue too much about who will pay, and calls her back.

As the man converses with the waitress, Rose leans over to you and whispers in your ear...

“It’s not a terrible shame: my parents haven’t given me a handsome face, but they did give me a big _cock.”_

At these words, your face then suddenly becomes so hot you feel as though you’ve been slapped, and a painful ringing in your ears comes soon after to accompany it. The world whirls around in a haze of color, filling you with a sense of vertigo as you feel his hot breath on your ear as images of his face and then his alleged big cock flashed in your mind. 

He strokes your thigh under the table, coming up underneath your dress to rub his fingers near your underwear.

As he continues to stroke your bare thigh, Rose goes on, “I couldn’t help myself. You’re looking entirely too beautiful today. Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

You look down at your plate, deaf and dumb. Trails of juice from the steak and potato run together into an unappealing congealed mess of fat and blood on the plate.

At the conclusion of your meal, the hospital administrator smiles at the two of you. “I’ve told the staff that I’ll cover the check. It’s always a great pleasure dining with you, Chairman.”

His expression not changing an iota, Rose smiles in kind. “Likewise.” His fingers play with the lace near your panty, toying with tugging down the fabric underneath. Spots dance in your vision. 

You willfully buck your knee outward, an indication for him to stop whatever he thinks he’s wanting to do. The two of you were in public, and he thought— he THOUGHT—

You stand up abruptly, and the wooden chair squeaks in protest. “I need to go... go to the bathroom.” 

“There’s a restroom,” Rose says slowly, his gray green eyes turning towards you, kindly yet dangerously, “Right around the second table and to the left of the kitchen, Gloria.”

The older man turns to you then. “I just wanted to let you know how lucky you are that your lot’s fallen in with Chairman Rose. He has in mind the best intentions of everyone in Galar!”

You watch the Chairman’s hand. It clenches and unclenches again like a dead spider.

At that moment, it’s very hard for you to believe so.

* * *

The older man leads you into a room in the hospital that you had missed. “This room is Jon’s. He'll be staying with us for a short while. He’s a patient from the pediatric unit of Wyndon Hospital.” 

Inside the room is the very picture of a young artist’s paradise. Several pictures of Pokémon and their trainers (especially those of Leon) are scattered on the ground and plaster the walls. Crayons litter the floor amongst the stuffed Pokémon plush dolls. _His room is full of these pictures,_ you think.

Not seeming to be too unnerved by the mess, Chairman Rose peers around the room. “Jon?”

No sooner than he’s said his name does then a sandy-haired blur, no older than 8 years old, comes flying at Chairman Rose. A earnest smile shines out of his face. 

“Chairman Rose! I didn’t know you were coming back!” he says, and Rose smiles in kind. The flames of the hatred that you had been steadily stoking for the man diminish.

“Well, don’t you worry about that. Say hello to Gloria now,” he says softly, turning the boy in your direction. 

Nervously, he fidgets with his t-shirt, and says, “H-hi! My name’s Jon. I really love Pokémon.” From the young boy’s generally awkward demeanor, you could tell he wasn’t used to having many visitors. Strangely enough, you didn’t have a maternal bone in your body, but for some reason, looking at his boy and his childish drawings evoke something in you.

...you want to _protect_ him. 

“Are you one of the competitors?” he asks. You look to the Chairman and he nods. You crouch down on your toes so you can meet his eyes.

“Yes, I am.” you smile. Jon blushes faintly.

“Oh… I think I saw you on the telly!”

Now it’s _your_ turn to be embarrassed. “Really?”

He nods. “Mm-hmm! You’re Gloria, right? Everyone’s always talking about you! And I, I drew this for you…” He digs around a little in his room for a few minutes, then retrieves a sheet of drawing paper. A pretty girl is drawn on the thick paper, her scribbled-on mouth spread into a hot pink crayon smile. 

_It’s a picture of you wearing your uniform…_

“Quite the resemblance, wouldn’t you say?” Rose whispers. You nod.

“I-I couldn’t find a good crayon for your lipstick so I just used the best pink I could find!” Jon stammers once he thinks you’ve been looking at your picture for too long. Bashfully, he looks down and to the side, grass-green eyes framed by small, blond eyelashes fixated on the floor. “I’ll draw a better one next time! You look a lot… prettier in person, miss.”

“She is,” Rose says quietly, and brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his brown thumb tracing the line of your jaw all the way to your chin. And Jon looks up at him, smiling a little while he does this, because he doesn’t know what he means by this gesture. He’s just a kid.

Before you can work yourself up into a panic, a nurse knocks on the door. “The paperwork’s all done for the adoption, Mister Rose. Jon?” the nurse smiles at him. “Meet your new family.”  
  


* * *

  
As the three of you depart the hospital, Rose looks at you. 

“What do you think of the boy?” he asks, looking from you to Jon. Jon holds you by the hand, and your fingertips are tightly interlaced.

Dumbfounded, all you can say is, “He’s cute.”

This garners a chuckle from the Chairman. “Do you think you could care for him?”

You look to him, a question forming on your lips. What was he asking...?

“Ah. Oleana is not exactly the _mothering_ type,” Rose sighs. “I’m terribly sorry to ask this of you, Gloria, but I’ll need to rely on you to look after Jon. It may be good for the boy to have a friend in the castle... and Bede and Leon are far too busy these days to care for a child.”

You nod. _Nothing will happen to you,_ you will at Jon. _I will keep you safe._

As the three of you step into the helicopter, the young boy looks at your Dynamax band. “That’s so _cool_. You have one too? Can I see?” You turn over your wrist for him to see the device as you help the young boy inside the aircraft. “Wow… I wish I could battle like you.”

“Why _can’t_ you?” you ask.

Contrary to what you had hoped, Jon then sucks in a breath like he’s about to cry. Inwardly, you panic. What have you done? Why can’t you do anything right?

Sensing the disquiet, Rose speaks over the sound of the chopper. “Many of the children in the hospital _can’t Dynamax,_ for whatever reason. Jon has a weak circulatory system, so the Dynamax system would put too much strain on his heart. Some people, I’m afraid, just don’t have the proper constitution for Pokemon battling.”

He signals to the pilot with a nod of his head.

“You’re going to face Gym Leader Milo tomorrow, yes? I’ve invited many of the children to see your battle with him tomorrow, Gloria. Are you confident you’re prepared?”

Rose smiles. “If you get a gym badge from him, I’ll hold a little celebration. Please do your best.”

You’re nodding, but a feeling of unease eats away at you as you look now at the black display of the Dynamax band. What if you were the same way? 

What then?

* * *

  
Hop laughs as he herds Wooloo with his Pokémon during Milo’s obstacle course. “Woohoo! You’re a plumb natural, Glory! Were you a Wooloo herder in a past life?”

“No,” you say, still irritated by his insistence on using that nickname. “Where’s your rival? _Victor?”_

The boy kicks some dirt absentmindedly as a Wooloo escapes from him. “Aww, he didn’t want to go to Milo’s gym today. Said he felt like helping his ma out with breeding at the farm instead...”

He’s noticeably close mouthed about his rival, and you didn’t want to pry further, so you don’t press him on the subject.

When you complete the obstacle course, Hop turns to you and grins. “Check out this special jersey I got! My big brother printed it out special for me, isn’t it brilliant?” He whirls around in a circle and does a facsimile of his brother’s infamous pose, pointing his finger up to the sky. 

You smile. At the moment, you hate Hop and his stupid jersey. You had to wait for a new one to be printed for you, courtesy of Chairman Rose, and were stuck wearing an old jersey and shorts combo that had been a leftover at the Turffield Gym.   
  
Before your match with Milo, you were told to wait in the dressing room. After what seems to be like hours, the referee, an older man with a tacky pair of shades meant for someone half his age, pops his head in:

“Yo! Number 004. Look alive. You’re up next.”

Utterly unprepared, you throw a cushion at the door. “Ever heard of _knocking?”_

And why were you number 004? Even though you had put in a request to have your own number printed on your jersey, you were more concerned with the fact that you had been suddenly moved up in line to battle Milo.

With a roll of his eyes, the referee opens the door wide open. It’s not the first time he’s heard that complaint. “Come here and look if you’re going to be so cheeky.” He then points to the posted listing of contestants to Milo’s gym, outside on the brick wall.

You spring to your feet and peer more closely at the paper, which is placed next to a gigantic poster of Leon. Your fingertip slowly trails the list of names, and you count inwardly until you see your own. “Wait... Where’s the contestant in front of me? Victor? Number 003?”

The referee’s certainly surprised you’re asking, and lets out a strident, awful sound like if a whistle could be nails on a chalkboard. “Vic? I like the kid. I really do. On paper, he looked good, _really_ good as a contestant; he’s sponsored by the Champion and all.”

He picks out some dirt from underneath a fingernail.

“Unfortunately,” the man says, stretching out the word ‘ _un-fortune-at-ly_ ’ as he said it, “he was boring as zubat shit, so he got cut from the list of competitors.”

“What? Why?” You turn to him, flushed, angry. You don’t even know Hop’s rival, other than the fact that he existed, but… Could the Galar League really just go and DO that? Wasn’t disqualification for such a petty reason immoral? _Illegal_ , even?

The referee sighs. _Do I really have to explain this to you?_ “Kid. The Rose Bowl is part Pokemon battling, part reality TV competition. The masses will always prefer good reality TV contestants who happen to Pokemon battle over Pokémon trainers who just want to be on the telly.”

“Then what about me?”

“What _about_ you? You’re an easy sell for producers. Cheeky bint come from nowhere, worked as a waitress for a few years, suddenly picked up by the Chairman of the Pokémon League…. Galar League’s got their work cut out for them: they can construct an underdog narrative around you.”

You scowl at him. “But if I wasn’t so interesting?”

He shrugs and whistles again as he draws his finger across the apple of his neck. “NG.”

_No good._

So if you’re not sufficiently entertaining to the Galar crowds, you’re cut from the program. Thrilling.

“Got any more burning questions, Champ-In-The-Making?” he asks with a terrible sneer. He’s got no faith in your chances for sure. The nickname was only to further taunt you.

You narrow your eyes at him, and snatch your clothes from his hand.

“Just hand over my uniform.”  
  


* * *

  
Before you step out into the manicured field, the referee grabs at you, and hisses in your ear, “Say, how’s Rose in bed? Heard he’s not half bad.”

You give him a hard shove and he falls back onto the poster of Leon with a hard thud.

“You’re bloody gross,” you spit at him with as much vitriol you can muster. _And I hate you._

As you wriggle into your uniform, you notice that the shirt comes up under and lifts whatever assets you have.

It’s so short. And tight. Worse yet are the white athletic shorts that came with the outfit, which hug your bum so closely and come up so high on your thighs that they looked more like a swimsuit _coverup_ than an outfit that you can run or battle in. 

You turn around and around, looking at your reflection in the framed glass of Leon’s poster. Was this Rose’s idea of a joke? Was he LAUGHING? If you were still alive by the end of the day, you’d kill him. _And_ his little secretary, too.

Still, you didn’t want to go out with the old jersey on, and you were sure that everyone expected some kind of a spectacle from you, so you stride out onto the field amidst the shocked murmurs from the crowd...

_“How can she come out on the field looking like THAT?!”_

_”What’s gotten into that girl? Is she mad?”_

_”Madly good-looking?”_

_”Hey, gorgeous, want to go out for drinks later?”_

You steady your breathing _._

_Breathe in and out. They’re more scared of you than you are them._

The announcer, a man with the same sort of tacky shades the referee had (you were beginning to think it was part of Galar League dress code), smiles wide as he takes in the sight of you.

“Look at those short shorts! Look at that rose lipped smile! What a _statement!_ What a _controversy~!”_

You look up at everyone all around, defiant and feeling as prickly as a rose. _You wanted a show? Here‘s your show._

Pointing to you, he exclaims:

“With all the innocence and fatality of a fresh new rose in bloom, contestant number 004 takes the stadium stage!”

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments
> 
> 1. _Brûle en l’enfer_ : Burn in hell.
> 
> 2\. Jon’s from Twilight Wings. I know, _another_ anime reference. I’m sorry. At least the animation is nice and Rose’s voice is attractive? 
> 
> I want to hear Leon’s English VA already, haha.


	8. Maiden Dissection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There the two of you stood, itching and scratching from shame until you came to bleeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for the love on this story. I’m surprised how this got bigger than I thought overnight. Badum-tish.
> 
> That being said, I really appreciate feedback on my work! If you like it, I’d appreciate a comment or two about what you enjoyed/wanted to see more of. I realize it’s explicit content, but please don’t run away! orz;;;

* * *

  
In the Galar Region, there is a commonly told fairytale of two heroes, armed with a sword and shield, who prevented the Darkest Day, signified by a dark cloud, from taking over the land.   
  
But even before that, there was yet another tale of a princess who was due to be betrothed to a tyrant king from another land. He had _control_ over a gigantic dragon Pokémon, which demanded a human sacrifice every year. In an attempt to sate the dragon’s hunger for those who were pure of heart, the villagers in this country often sent the fairest of their maidens to be sacrificed to the great beast. 

This princess, being soft-hearted and kind herself, wanted to put an end to this tyranny herself, so she agreed to the marriage in hopes of ending the barbaric practice. 

She had never imagined she would end up as prey herself.

* * *

  
_You wake up in Chairman Rose’s bed and you’re not yourself._

Whatever person you had been, died last night, and you were now piloting the body of a stranger. The hollowness you had felt last night had not been filled, and instead had expanded until it separated you from the person you had been before.

Sweat pricked your palms as the realization of what had happened to you slowly took shape in your mind. Yes, you had slept with Chairman Rose after the disaster that was last night, and now you were in his room, waiting for him to get out of the shower.

Your eyes scan his room. It is utterly anachronistic compared to the rest of the castle, filled with advanced technology such as a series of large screen computer monitors and Y-COMMs and blueprints of the steam powered architecture of Wyndon. The tables and chairs are made from wood and PVC in a modern, sleek fashion, very different from the old and grand decorations that made the castle so distinct. 

After stepping out of the shower, Rose seems to absorb your appreciation of his things, showing the bare minimum of a smile when your eyes met his. “Find something you’ve liked, Gloria?”

“This place is different from the rest of Rose Tower,” you say finally, tearing your eyes away from a portrait of a spined dragon on the wall.

Rose’s fingers trace the spine of a book. ”It pains me to have to admit this, but this room must be the most authentic in the Castle.”

You turn your head. The Chairman explains, “This castle is a recreation of an older one that might have existed in Wyndon, many centuries ago. Truth be told, our city is a steam-powered, modern marvel, and Rose Tower belongs to every part of that: it was built when the city was initially planned.”  


So a modern castle that took the appearance of a castle that no longer existed. The Chairman could have told you it floated in the sky too and his motives wouldn’t have made much more sense.  


He’s getting dressed now. “I meant to say this to you earlier, but... Everyone did enjoy your performance last night, the children especially. I saw a future that had been stolen from them burning in their eyes.”

Rose frowns. “It’s regrettable that I have to say this... as a jolly good showing as that was, I _implore_ you to learn how to Dynamax. It’s what draws ratings in from Alola and beyond. People all around the globe want to see that spectacle of over the top moves and over the top Pokémon. I worry you’re setting… a troublesome precedent for other trainers.”

“I’ll try my best,” you say. He shakes his head.

He sits on the bed as his thumb traces your jawline from ear to chin. “You have to do more than try, my dear. Jon has a weak heart. Not everyone is like you… so strong willed and so bold in spirit. The strain of battling without the Dynamax system might cause their bodies to give out.”

You frown. “But I want to show them that they don’t need it. They can battle without it!”

His kind expression becomes harder to dissuade you from arguing further. “Sadly, many do.”

Upset he had missed the point you were trying to make, you sit there in silence, arms crossed as you look out the window at a flock of rookidee roosting amongst the Wyndon shutters.

Rose then looks over at you and clicks his tongue. “Don’t be like that now,” he says, frowning. “I meant my words to be taken as a compliment. Give me a kiss, you’ll feel better.”

You kiss Rose on the side of his mouth. You don’t feel much better.

Getting up to style his hair, he then says to you from his reflection, “I’ve arranged for you to start training with Leon. He knows the ins and outs of the Dynamax system better than most trainers.”

Leon’s face, twisted with hatred, loomed in your mind still. You fly to him to grab his hands which are slightly sticky from hair gel residue. “That’s fine! The champion has to be busy. Can’t Bede help me?”

Rose smiles indulgently at you. “Hm? He’s not as experienced as Leon, Gloria. You don’t want to be trained by the greatest trainer in all of Galar, and perhaps, even the world?”

Your protest sounds just as silly as he had said it.

After you take off for the Wyndon Stadium, you ask yourself, looking back at Rose’s room: _should I hate him?_

And you guess... you will have your answer when you come back.  
  


* * *

  
Before entering Wyndon Stadium, you put your hand on the door entrance now, thinking of Leon, _I am not afraid of this man, and if I have to make my way alone, I will._

When you enter the stadium, Leon and another man are currently running back and forth as they play a game of football on the grass. They look just about evenly matched, but Leon is just a little bit faster, a little bit more agile than his rival, and he’s able to maintain control of the ball as he kicks the ball into the net. 

After Leon scores, his opponent, an older man, dusky skinned and about Leon’s age swears, and throws up his hands in the air. Catching your eye, he then nods at you. “Yo! You’re Gloria?” His hair is styled carefully in spikes, and tied up with a reddish orange bandana. His face is lean and sharp, and light colored eyes glitter out of his face. 

He dashes over to you, leans in... and whips out his Rotom Phone? On the current photo album being displayed is _hundreds_ of self portraits of the young man posing with his various Dragon Pokémon.

He puts an arm around you, throws up a peace sign, and the device snaps a photo before you can react.

*click*

“Aww, not a good one. You can’t blink, that’s the trick,” Raihan sighs. He yells over to his opponent: “Leon, get your arse over here and show her how to be photogenic! It won’t be hard, you’re always posing on TV anyway!”

Leon looks at you over the stadium, not surprised, but merely resigned, wearing his typical outfit minus the cape. Raihan puts an arm around you and whispers, “Psst. You’re a pretty girl! You tell me, which one is better, the left or the right?”

Both left and right pictures are of him, just in different poses. ...In fact, all of these photos are pictures of him.

 _Very_ humble. 

You look from Raihan to Leon as the latter strides across the field, the bold 01 printed on his gym shorts. _No small wonder they’re friends._

”Y-You look like a chav in both,” you stammer, embarrassed he had put you suddenly on the spot, and Raihan’s face goes dark with a flush and you can see Leon trying his best to conceal a snicker. “You have to stick your tongue out in _all_ of them?”

“It’s what’s hip now,” Raihan protests. “Besides, I like to get people thinking what I could do with that…” He flicks his tongue out, but it gives off the impression of a lizard cleaning its eyeballs rather than anything erotic or thrilling. 

“You’re both gross,” you say flatly. Leon scoffs.

“Of course I’ve done it again,” He mutters.

Raihan pulls the two of you together and laughs. “You’re doomed by association, mate. It’s okay. Just let the wave of rejection wash over you, Leon. The both of us, _4Ever Alones.”_

You muffle a laugh. “I think girls would like that you’re funny more than your... photos.” Raihan brightens.

“Hey,” he says. “That’s something, innit? I could make it our page on the PSS!”

Letting go of you, he then claps Leon on the back. “Nice training with you as always, mate. One of these days I’ll show you up!”

Leon laughs. “I’d say likewise... but I said that I’m banning your Rotom Phone from our next practice, and I meant it, Raihan. You can take selfies AFTER we’ve completed training, yeah?”

With a roll of his lizard-like eyes, Raihan mutters, “Don’t be such a bloody spoilsport, Leon. How will I know which one to put on my new League Card? Or which one I should show to _Sonia?”_ he says, waggling his eyebrows provocatively.

This last remark earns Raihan a punch in the side from Leon, which he deftly evades. With one lazy wink to you, he departs from the stadium.

“That git, he knows she’s my friend,” Leon sighs under his breath. His eyes look to you, questioning and still.

Now that you’re alone with the Galar Champion, you’re not sure how to start talking to him. You both stand in an awkward silence for a moment, and then a complete non-sequitur comes out of your mouth.

“What happened to Victor?” 

“Good to see you too,” Leon says. 

After an initially taken aback expression that insults you more than you’d like to admit, the young man sighs. “...He was a character that needed to be, I believe, " _written out_ " of the show.”

Kicking a football idly with his white cleats, Leon goes on, “Victor was a sure shot for Champion and other great things, but now he’s dropped all his ambitions and probably his chance to compete in order to help at home, and no one even had to ask it of him.” Leon recalls this as if it were a great shame, as if to ask: 

_He has no ambition. Why does he have no ambition?_

”Play a couple of matches with me?” he asks, bouncing the ball on his knee now. “I won’t be gutted if you’re a shoddy athlete. Hop whiffs the ball half the time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You won’t _tackle_ me if I’m getting too close to the end goal, will you?”

Leon laughs, a bold, confident sound that’s not unlike a ringing of a great bell. “Of course not! You don’t mean to spray me with a hose again, do you—“

At that moment, you kick the ball from the air and steal the ball from him, steadily dribbling it across the field. He stares at you, dumbfounded, and then gives chase. “Hah! Playing dirty now, are we?”

Catching up to you, Leon says, not even _close_ to being out of breath, “You just don’t trust me, do you?”

“No farther than I can throw you,” you admit, a little annoyed that he’s having a right fun time and you’ve already become winded from running across half the stadium. “First you’re nice to me. Then you’re not. Then you ignore me. Then you ask why I haven’t said cheers and hello. You’re a moody person,” you say, faking left. 

He’s better at this game than you; Leon easily predicts your clumsy bluff and steals the ball. “Well, it’s a bit hard to know what’s going on in your head, isn’t it!”

“I wanted a sponsorship and I didn’t know how to get one until Rose offered me one for stealing his watch,” you nearly shout in way of a reply, trying to keep up pace with him as he dashed towards the net. “I hardly know myself!”

His eyes widen at your admission of guilt, but he then scores into your goal, and gives off a fist pump, and then briefly points to the sky in an abbreviated version of his signature pose.

And he scores.

Again.

And again.

And again.

“And what does playing football have _anything_ to do with Dynamax?!” you protest angrily after the man’s gotten his fifth consecutive goal, and he laughs. “Chairman Rose said that you were going to help me, but I think you’re just having a go at me!”

Leon mock clutches his chest. “A joke at your expense, eh? I could never, ever, as Galar’s greatest ever Champion, ever do something villainous like that!”

When you had first met the Galar Champion, you hadn’t known before whether to find him arrogant or adorable.

_But now you know he‘s a arrogant bloke._

You don’t know what he’s looking at or what he’s looking for. Leon was supposed to _help_ you? Help you do what except tear your hair out?

Resuming your game, he then says, “But a crafty young woman who targets upstanding men for her own gain… you could say she’s more capable of that, wouldn’t you say?”

You stop running. “You think I targeted Rose? You think I went _after_ him!? That’s not true,” you say, then kicking the ball past him. “The engagement was only to drum up ratings… and if I get disqualified, it’s all over, anyways.”

The ball passes from trainer to trainer. “You’re lucky you’ve been able to grow up rich. You can _afford_ to be a good person.”

“And you can’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I couldn’t. Can’t.”

“Hmm. I‘ve always tried to go by my instincts, but they’ve printed a fair bit of rumors about you in the press. Even if many of the rumors they‘ve discussed are untrue, they do help the people following along at home to learn a lot about the competitors in the Champion Cup.”

“So because some trashy television show said that I went after Chairman Rose you believe them,” you say flatly. 

“This isn’t about what is,” says Leon. “It’s about what people _think_ is. It’s all imaginary anyway. That’s why it’s important! People only fight over imaginary things.”

Maybe that was why his anger towards you had been so quickly forgotten. He was simply convinced that whatever had happened was imaginary.

“Who even cares,” you say, coming to a halt at the field’s midline. “I can’t Dynamax. This stupid football game isn’t helping me. Rose and Oleana are going to figure it out soon enough, and then I’m going to be disqualified because I won’t play his game.”

“If you want to master the skill, if that’s really what you want to do,” he says, looking over at you, “You have a lot to learn.”

He puts his arms around you and presses a hand to your beating heart, which beat quick, light, thready like a sparrow. “When you think to yourself,” he says softly in your ear, “What’s the truest wish you have in your heart?”

“Picture it... does it have a shape?”

_They say the person on that day when Wyndon Bridge came down who saved that girl was a great hero!_

He puts his hands on your shoulders and grins broadly. 

”Seize it in your mind, and then come at me, with all you have!”

_I want to be someone like that!_

Filled with passion, you go again, and dash past the older man, weaving back and forth as you run across the field.

Running at top speed, you slide past him onto the ground as you kick the ball into the goal. 

“Good work! Nicely done.”

“You didn’t throw that round,” you ask, skeptical that you had won so easily. “Did you?”

Leon grins, and helps you up. “Play a couple more games with me and find out!”

So, he _had_ thrown the first match, but you score in the two games after that, and after an hour of going back and forth, you lie down on the grass. It smells vaguely of plastic. 

Leon looks down at you. “Loafing off?”

“Taking a break,” you correct him. 

“I’ve got to give it to you, that was some turnabout you pulled off. Even I don’t know what’d gotten into you... what on earth were you dreaming about?”

You hesitate. Aside from your time in Rose Tower, you didn’t _know_ Leon. Not really. For now, you’d keep your innermost thoughts to yourself.

Evasively, you say, “I was just thinking about how happy I was to be here, alive, and going towards something that’s actually within my reach.”

“I can understand that! But the hardest part of having a lofty goal is seeing it, seeing that it is so far off you may never reach it, and moving toward it anyway.”

The older man turns to you then and sits down cross legged on the grass. “So! You want to be Champion? Tell me, what’s on the agenda for day one of Gloria’s reign?”

“Reign…?” you purse your lips and look up at the morning sky. “I don’t want anything like that.”

His brows draw together as if to ask you to elaborate, so you continue: “People should be free to make their own decisions. I don’t need to be their queen. I wouldn’t want to take their freedom away from them.”

“People only want to live their lives happily. They should be free to do that. I was thinking about all of those people who were so happy to see that I’d won. That I could succeed despite the odds...”

”Does that make sense?”

He smiles, but there’s an element of strain and insincerity behind his expression. “All the more reason to give it your best shot! But... don’t misunderstand their intentions— the people in Galar will support whoever is "strongest" in the competition. They have no real convictions beyond supporting the winner.”

Laying down next to you on the AstroTurf, Leon looks off into the shadows cast by the stadium lights. “People can be a bit cruel. If you don’t make an attempt to fit in with them... they may not come to accept you, or even make an effort to understand you.”

You sit up and shake your head. “But... that’s their right.”

He turns to look at you. _What?_

“I know everyone has their likes and dislikes, but...”

Your eyes gleaming with the fire of the stars, you then say:

“No matter what swears people throw my way in the end, I’ll still perform in front of them. And because standing on that pitch makes me so happy, I plan on foolishly, happily performing and passionately living until the very end.”

Leon stays silent a long time. So long that you look at him to make sure he had actually heard you. Considering what you’ve said, his attention is all fixed on you, and it is enormous with emotion and with something burning and private.

He then laughs to take the edge off of his voice, and stands up. “You’ve got a real great desire to win, don’t you? Love it!”

“I guess so,” you say, accepting his hand to stand.

But then, at the darkened alcove of the doorway, he pulls you in close...

“But... you don’t know that given the chance, the people who say they loved you can be cruel and eat you alive,” Leon says. Peering at you with those hazel eyes of his, he then murmurs:

“As though they’re itching for the moment they can sink their sharpened teeth into anything.”

* * *

  
“Well! At least you can help us with the cooking,” the head maid says, pouring hot water into your mug of angelica tea.

“You _did_ say you worked as a waitress, for a little while, didn’t you?” 

You nod. You had, but you had mostly relied on scrounging on whatever odd job you could get, and whoever was willing to pay you for it. It didn’t mean you were particularly _good_ at it. 

At the moment, you are preoccupied with reproducing Leon’s expression in your mind, trying to get at what he meant as he said it. _Sinking their teeth into what...?_

”What are we making?” you ask, ridding yourself of Leon’s face and his voice and his hands as you roll up your sleeves.

“We’re making muffins and other pastries for afternoon tea,” the kind maid says. “Young Master Bede loves his Galar muffins with a little bit of jam, and even Master Leon will sink his teeth into a bap if it’s well made.”

_...As if they’re itching for the moment they can sink their teeth into anything._

You squeeze your eyes. _Rose is strange. Leon’s friend is strange. Everything about this fake old castle is strange. Why does it matter if Leon’s said something strange to you?_

You help them, and make a right mess of the kitchen in the process, but the staff is a great help in getting the ingredients all prepped and the muffins shaped and put in the oven.

Just as you’re tidying yourself up, you hear a woman clearing her throat.

Part of the reason you had retreated to the kitchen was that you hadn’t expected to see Oleana here. The woman likely detested domestic duties such as cooking and cleaning, and you doubted a woman of her stature would stoop to such demeaning activities as those.

That’s why you’re surprised to see her in the castle kitchen, Jon in tow, behind her. He looks pale and anxious, not at all eager to be by the older woman’s side.

“The boy came up to your room, but you were missing,” she says, an eyebrow quirked, and then looks pointedly at the mug of tea in your hands. She doesn’t cackle aloud or laugh vindictively, but simply looks at it and then you knowingly. The feeling of her nails on your face still burning, the two of you glare at each other for a good moment, but then you walk over to Jon.

“Hi,” you say, patting his head. “I’m a little busy helping the other people in the castle right now. Do you want something to eat while you watch us prepare?”

Hesitantly, he nods. He probably hadn’t expected you to ask. You then open the refrigerator, recognizing items that had filled the restaurant kitchen fridge to appeal to the younger children: small pasties, sausage, frozen blueberry pancakes, fruit juice. “What do you want, Jon?”

He says, “Whatever you’ll get for me is fine.”

You hand a reheated pasty to the boy, and look to Oleana with your hand out. “Do you want anything...?”

Your hand lingers in the air. _Truce?  
_

She scoffs, incredulous that you of all people would offer her anything _,_ but then her composure returns. “Do as you wish. Currently, I have no interest in anything you can offer me.”

”...That’s the kindest she’s ever been to someone who’s had Rose’s attention,” a maid whispers to you after she’s left. 

After Oleana departs and Jon eats his pasty at the kitchen table, the maids quietly talk amongst themselves, and you overhear them discussing Jon.

> “He‘s very pale, isn’t he...”
> 
> ”Rose is adopting _more_ children?”
> 
> ”He doesn’t look well...”
> 
> ”Only a matter of time for this boy as well...”

Wildly, you shake your head, thinking, _you don’t know what you heard, you don’t know, so don’t, and you don’t know what they meant, so don’t._

Wanting to show them just how full of life Jon was, you enlist the boy’s help in bringing out the dishes for afternoon tea. He’s a little slow and uncoordinated as carrying the plates, but before long, all of the plates and silverware are set on the dining room table. 

Rose and Leon look round at the preparations as you hurry past them from the kitchen to the dining room, bringing out tea sets and muffins every time you passed them.

“Gloria,” the Chairman says calmly, catching you by the hand, “You don’t have to interact with the staff if you don’t wish to. It’s their duty to prepare the afternoon tea for the guests of the castle.”  
  
You look at all the plates and bread and warm raspberry jam you all have set out on the dining room table. “I like helping out,” you say, and dust the flour off your clothes.

“Naturally,” Rose says. “I hardly know you well at all, but you’re every ounce the angel that I had said that you are.” 

He brings his attention to the young boy. ”Have you prepared your things to go back to the hospital, Jon? We’ll go after afternoon tea.”

Confused, you ask, “For what?”

”Ah, of course you don’t know. Jon is supposed to undergoing a new treatment for his condition. They said it was a radical invasive therapy for children who suffer from his chronic illness.”

“Sorry I didn’t say anything,” the boy mumbles.

”You’re fine,” you say, shaking your head, but feel a pang of anxiety for him, unwarranted as it may be.

Before he’s off to have his surgery, you take the little boy’s hand, and curl over him, your hair spilling around him like that could be any kind of shield, and hold him as tightly as you could without causing pain.

”Gloria...?” he whispers. 

Quickly unfastening the chain around your neck, you drop the shining silver necklace around your neck into his hand, and curl his little fingers around the pendant.

“As long as you have this, it will keep you safe. You keep it while you’re at the hospital, okay?”

“It’s special?” Jon asks, awestruck. You nod and open the silver pendant. Embedded in the glistening metal is the shard of something that shines brilliantly like a meteorite. 

“Yes, it’s my lucky pendant. I’m giving it to you so you’ll get better in no time at all.” you kneel down to meet his eyes and point to him. You’re aware that everyone is staring at you now, but it was important that he was safe and healthy. “There’s only one like it in the _entire_ world, so you have to get better.”

He brightens and puts it around his neck. “I’ll definitely get better quick then, so I can give it back to you!”

And with that Jon is gone, and you felt once more the briefest pinch in your chest of someone departing.

* * *

  
  
Exhausted from training and your work in the kitchen, you had laid down on your stomach with your legs slightly apart as you slept fitfully in your room after lunch. You’d maintained your composure in front of everyone, save Leon, but you were prevented from sleeping peacefully as you fretted over the fact that your Dynamax band still wasn’t working. 

Not long before the afternoon sun burned red in the sky, however, you start to hear strange things in your room. Periodically, the door to your room would open, then shut, then open and shut, and open and shut, this quietly occurred in 10 minute intervals, and you tried your best to sleep in that time.

Eventually, after the fourth or so occurrence of this happening, did you hear the door to your room slowly open, and you felt your bed creak as a person unidentifiable sat on the edge of your bed. You hear nothing but his quiet breathing for a few moments, and then he starts to run his hands along your legs and up your thighs.

Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs as his large hands come up to the area between your legs. Rose was at the hospital _,_ wasn’t he? How could he have the time to come up to your room and...

It didn’t matter now. You just need to sleep and then you will forget all about this and tomorrow you will be unchanged by what he does to you in the middle of the day and night. 

_Why can’t you just sleep. Why can’t you just go to sleep,_ you think furiously, but your heart is going a mile a minute and if you breathe or scream or yell he’ll be able to tell you’re awake. You don’t stir. _Let this be over,_ you will, but he keeps going and starts to stroke your clit through your shorts, and multicolored spots dance in your blackened view, then he slips them off and continues to rub the area over your clit through your damp underwear.

He lets you agonize there, immobile and still, and it’s another few minutes that passes before he spreads your legs a little to slip your panties off. A gust of cold air greets your insides and between your thighs as he tugs them down until they are at your ankles. The fabric of his boxers do a bad job of concealing how much his bulge had grown and grown and you ache for him to just do whatever he wants to you already.

Eventually, the man gets up on the bed and you feel the enormity of his engorged cock rub up against you. At this point, you’ve been left wanting for so long that it’s easy work for the protrusion to just slide across your wet thighs, and he starts to alternate between pressing his erect cock along your slit and jacking off into his hand.

After a while of doing just this, pleasing himself to you, you feel him come against your leg and he (gently, _slowly)_ rubs the sticky spunk inside you with the head of his dick. 

After pulling up your underwear, he’s kissing you now, having achieved the release he wanted. His facial hair is scratchy against your skin. He’s kissing you on the side of the mouth, then the cheek, then licking and sucking at the shell of your ear with his mouth. You moan softly, unable to keep from stirring, and he pauses for a hellish moment— _why isn’t he kissing you anymore?_ — then when it’s clear you won’t wake, he brushes your hair behind your ear and gives you one languid kiss on your cheek for good measure. 

When he’s finished you off, the room is warmer than before, and he dries his ejaculate off your thighs with a towel before pulling the blankets over your inflamed body. After pulling up your shorts and tucking you in, he gets up from the bed and closes the door behind him, leaving you burning and ruined in his wake.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments:
> 
> 1\. For anyone who’s played the game, you already know Rose’s justification for the Dynamax phenomenon is... not very truthful.


	9. Between the Wolf and the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We all pretend to be the heroes on the good side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....

* * *

_  
This is 3N, Galar’s National News Network, always bringing you the hottest news of the day. Outside Wyndon Stadium, a man is staging what appears to be a protest with other members of Team Yell._

TEAM YELL PROTESTOR 1: This whole situation has got to end!  
He then turns to the rest of the assembled grunts in a chant:

> _The people of Galar are under attack!  
>   
>  What do we do? Stand up, fight back!_

As he continues to chant, he and the other protestors march in circles, while holding a large sign that reads in big blocky letters: TEAM YELL HEARS YOUR VOICE! JOIN OUR BOYCOTT!

[The other assembled members of Team Yell howl in agreement:]

> _Hey hey, ho ho!_
> 
> _The Rose Bowl has got to go!_

Photos of fearsome Obstagoon are plastered on their other signs. Photos of the Charizard and the Champion have a big red X over them. END DYNAMAX! SUPPORT HUMBLE POKÉMON TRAINERS! RETURN TO GALAR ROOTS!

They wave their signs and their posters in your face as you enter the castle after your match with Nessa. Leon covers you with his cape, Bede flanking you on the right. “Honestly, how could they waste our time like this,” Bede sighs. “You’re sure we can’t... _make_ them disperse?”

Despite your lack of any kind of love for Team Yell, you don’t like the implication behind ‘making’ the protestors do anything. It’s not like they were attacking you personally.

Leon’s lips gather into one thin, tight line, and he laughs bitterly. “Hah! I understand the desire, but... Rose said not to make a scene in front of Gloria. We’ll have a real champion time handling them later.”

One Team Yell grunt gets in your face, holding up a sign only millimeters from your face. This one sign is particularly brutal: it depicts a circle and stake marked through a Wooloo.

BE WOLVES, _NOT_ SHEEP! BARE YOUR TEETH AGAINST CORRUPTION AND REJECT THE CHAMPION CUP!

_Corruption...? Did that have anything to do with Lance’s visit a few days ago?_

Just behind you, Raihan scowls now, annoyed they’ve also obstructed his getting to Wyndon Stadium. “You SURE I can’t just go out there and blast them with a Draco Meteor? It’d be quick, Leon. They wouldn’t feel anything.”

“Go ahead, see how popular you’ll be with the people outside when you rain fire and brimstone on their houses,” the young man sighs. “Raihan, now is NOT the time.”

Disregarding Leon’s warnings, Raihan gets into blows with the man leading the protest. “Yo, mate! This is _my_ stadium too, you dumbass git—“

Embarrassed, Leon pulls down his cap over his eyes as he watches his friend throw a guitar onto the ground. “That Raihan, I told him not to make a scene and here he’s having a champion time of it making a fool of himself! Wait here, both of you.”

The champion dashes out from cover and flashes a dazzling smile to the assembled crowd of protestors and bystanders. “Hello, everyone! How are we? Having a champion time, I hope!”

> “Leon! It’s LEON, in person! I might faint!”
> 
> ”It’s the unbeatable Champion! Think he’ll give me some battling or workout tips?”
> 
> ”WOW! He’ll surely know what to do with these ruffians...”

The Team Yell protestors scowl at the Champion making his appearance, but the crowd cheers and goes wild at the sight of Leon, and continues to chant his name. But more importantly, the newscasters all swarm the Champion, drawing attention away from the protest. 

“So, do you feel any particular sympathy for Team Yell?”

He nods. “Yes, I do, without a doubt! But this madness is growing out of control. Rose Tower really is no place for a protest...” Leon’s eyes then dart to the sign with his face circled and crossed out in thick red paint, and his eyebrows raise, but he’s not mad. He’s... amused, as if these people and their protesting were a little funny diversion on his way to work. ****

Chuckling, Leon smooths his chin with one hand while taking in his photograph. “Not a bad likeness, I’ll grant you that! Bit of a handsome chap, isn’t he?”

If it weren’t for the mob of angry protestors, you could groan. _Raihan and Leon, two peas in a pod._

But his refusal to take their protesting seriously only serves to inflame the protestors, who draw closer to you and Bede. Ollie’s face now stares at you from the crowd of people and reporters. _Gloria?_

...who then intercept you and the boy on your way inside. “Ah, it’s the Rose Princess!”

As more and more of the people recognize you, you’re surrounded on all sides by paparazzi. Bede sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hmph. I guess there’s no point in hiding any more.” He looks to you as if blaming you for his bad fortune.

You don’t blame him. You’d blame you too.

“How do you feel about Team Yell?” one reporter asks you. “After all, they’ve all made a pledge to not Dynamax their Pokémon. You said that there’s an _inner strength_ that people who don’t use Dynamax have. Does that apply to Team Yell as well?”

Leon’s smile lowers a tad, and he puts a hand between the cameraman and you. “What can I say? Gloria’s words were very inspiring! There were tears running down my face before I even realized it. And I utterly apologize if you all feel left out! But there’s no reason you can’t watch at home.”

From the middle of the crowd of assembled protestors, Marnie puts a hand on her hip. “If Gloria won’t Dynamax, that makes her more like us than _you,”_ she retorts. 

This particular comment seems to have gotten under his skin, and the Champion laughs again, but it sounds more like an aborted cough. “And yet she’s living here with all of us and not with you, eh?”

He then says to the young girl: “Marnie, was it? Over 6 and a half million people have Dynamax bands in Wyndon _alone_ , there's barely anyone left for your ideas to appeal to. People like yourself go to my matches, that’s why they’re always sold out! But you act above it all, like you somehow own the spirit of Pokémon battling. But you don’t, remember?”

Marnie flushes red, left with nothing to say but still defiant. “Never said I owned nothing.”

“Aww, that’s a bunch of chat shit. What do _you_ think,” your old coworker asks, grabbing your hand. “C’mon, Gloria, you’ve got a mouth and lips, don’t cha—“

“Take your hands off her or I might feel like crushing you completely,” Leon says in a low, deadly tone. Dusky fingertips now dig into the man’s forearm. His eyes widen as he looks from Leon to you. 

Like it’s no trouble at all, the champion then pulls him off of you and smiles his signature crookedly perfect smile. “Mate, you realize you can talk to her without having a _go_ at her, right? Have some respect, eh?” The change in tone for the older man was like flipping a switch. 

You look back at your coworker, whose pupils were now fixed in such a state of abject terror that they resembled little pinpricks. Leon had squeezed his skin so tightly that his grip left deep pale wells on the young man’s forearm. Any longer and it would have bruised. 

You rack your brain for an answer as cameras go off in your eyes. “I think that people should be free to try and win in a way that makes sense to them. If battling without Dynamax helps you… why not try your best?”

Now, you _think_ this is an agreeable answer, but Leon frowns, as if you’ve gone off script. 

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Right then! If that’s all for your questions, you’ll have to excuse us! This is no time for having a little chat. But I hope you’ll watch my upcoming match with Champion Wallace in the next few weeks! It should be a champion time for everyone.”

You head into the castle then, Leon still holding your hand, Team Yell at your back.

* * *

  
You tear your hand away from Leon as soon as you come inside Rose’s office. “Why didn’t you let me say anything?” you ask him angrily.

”You think that whatever _you_ could have said would have calmed the protesting outside?” he fires back. “Don’t be utterly naive, Gloria. A crowd that wild won’t be swayed by a few idealistic words!”

“Maybe if you had let me speak to them, it would’ve been different,” you snap. 

Rose takes one look at the both of you squabbling and sighs. After setting down his cup of steaming chai tea, he says, “Leon, Gloria... What seems to have come over the both of you? Come, sit.”

After separating the two of you, Rose takes a seat at his desk, steepling his hands together pensively. “Well... Perhaps it’s indeed better that Leon didn’t allow for you to inflame them further, Gloria.” he says. ”Some people... can be too free. Almost as if they want to be free from society.”

You look from Rose to Leon, baffled. _Too free...?_

Rose frowns deeply at the assembled crowd of protestors on the street. Marnie is now handing Ollie a water bottle and looking at his forearm. “For Team Yell, one of their forms of freedom is _freedom from consequences.”_

“These people think that having to do literally anything for the benefit of someone other than themselves is tyranny. They call it living as lone wolves amongst the sheep of Galar, but truthfully, they desire the freedom to do whatever they want without consequence no matter how that affects others! They want to be free from society.”

“Their idol, Marnie, had to Dynamax her impidimp at Nessa’s gym in order to win, so her fan base has fallen out of love with her a tad bit. They’re looking for someone else to champion their cause, and well...”

Chairman Rose didn’t need to say it for you to understand. 

Imperfect as you may have been, you fit the bill.

“I dare say it’s better if you don’t associate with people such as that. You’re so good, so kind, and we all would like you to stay that way. Especially...“

”...Jon.” 

Rose holds up your silver pendant to the light. You want to grab for it, and then, sickeningly, remember that the boy is still in Wyndon General. How did Rose get your necklace? _What had happened to him?  
_

Remembering yourself and where you are, you ease your nerves and resist the urge to grab at the piece of jewelry. “Why... do you have my necklace? That was for Jon to keep.”

“After his treatment, Young Jon requested I give this back to you,” he says, placing it on the desk in front of him. “The only way to defend freedom is to take it from people who would waste it and put it towards people who will use it properly. Children like Jon cannot be truly free, but he would definitely use his freedom more wisely than those _youths_ protesting outside.”

He passes the pendant and chain to you. Cautiously, you take the pendant and open it and notice that the photo of your mother is still there, but the meteorite fragment is missing.

“More interestingly, however, Oleana discovered that there is a Wishing Star in your pendant. Did you know this, Gloria?”

You shake your head. You really hadn’t.

“Ah. Regardless of how you came by it, there is a possibility that the Wishing Star in this pendant interfered with the energy from the one in your Dynamax band.” he explains.

“The Gym Challenge is an excellent opportunity for you to show off your Dynamax pokemon, so I’d very much like you to display this at your next televised battle. Oleana has taken the Wishing Star from the pendant and put it in a Dynamax band for you to use during Kabu’s match.”

”I’m counting on you to teach her well,” he says to Leon then, and something dark, unspoken passes between the two men, and after an initial bit of silence, the younger man nods.

”She’ll show you something good tomorrow,” he says tersely. “Come along now, Gloria.”

* * *

  
At night, Wyndon City becomes a child’s picture book dream of a city—here a storybook castle, there a boutique, all furnished in a grandiose, larger than life, steampunk style. Dreamy puffs of steam rise lazily into the star studded sky in large tufts.

Your training with Leon at the stadium goes well into the afternoon and deep into the night. Afterwards, you had gone to a nearby convenience store to pick up some snacks. Leon waited outside, not wanting to be mobbed by fans or paparazzi for the second time today, undoubtably.

You toss the older man the protein shake he had asked for. “The saleswoman said that it was your favorite,” you say. They’re the first bit of friendly words you’ve spoken to him since this morning’s protest, so they come out a little awkwardly.

Leon’s eyes brighten. “Did she? Good woman.”

It’s been an good few days since Leon shaved, so for once his beard is stubbled and scruffy, very different from his facial hair which is usually meticulously shaved close to his chin. He unscrews the cap to his protein shake and stands across from you as you walk to Rose Tower.

A news broadcast can be heard over the sounds of the tourists loud car honks of the city.

 _“...this trainer, aged 15, has been missing for three weeks now. If you have any information regarding her whereabouts, please contact the Wyndon police at this number._ ****

Your attention is drawn to the television in the storefront of a electronic shop. It’s displaying the photograph of a female trainer. She has a pleasant smile. “Do you know anything about this?”

He pulls his cap over his face and sighs.

”Everyone has an opinion, everyone has a theory about the disappearances,” Leon sighs. “I’ve tried to get a handle on the situation, but nobody’s been able to pinpoint what’s abducting these trainers or why they’ve been selected in the first place! It’s right about to drive me mad.”

As you walk, you strain your ears to listen further. That girl trainer had only been fifteen: her sixteenth birthday was in a couple of weeks. She was only a year and a half younger than you.

Tearing your eyes from the LED display of her face, you ask Leon, “You said that you go to the gym five days a week. What kind of exercise do you do there?" 

“I use the machines and the free weights,” Leon answers; this is a question he’s gotten countless times before. He’s walking side by side with you, his shoulder bumping up against your head as the two of you walk together in a Wyndon alleyway.

Nearby, a woman tourist is telling her phone really loudly about the new stained-glass windows Wyndon Castle just put in and how beautiful they are. 

_“This is just the latest in a string of unexplained disappearances of Pokémon trainers in the Galar Region. Authorities are still investigating the matter and urge the public to remain calm and stay in pairs when traveling at night.”_

“...And your diet?”

“Whatever’s trending,” he says, tossing his shake into a trash bin. “If it fits into my training program, that is.”

You look over at him, skeptical. “Hop told me you don’t care about what things taste like.” 

Leon nods and chuckles. “Well! He’s right about that, at the very least. It’s not like I’ll scarf down rubbish, but I’ll eat whatever’s suitable for my training. I need to become stronger, after all!”

You couldn’t imagine it. He lived in a world constrained by little gates, and those gates had gates of their own, and then those had their own little gates secured by big iron padlocks. Everything about his image, the one Leon projected to the world, was very meticulously chosen. 

“What about you?” he asks. 

You grin. “Whatever I like! I like to be free to do that.”

He smiles wryly. “So you’re as free as the rookidee in the shutters, is that it?”

You aren’t sure how to answer that. Leon hadn’t asked the question in good faith, it instead had an edge of astonished contempt that belied the seemingly innocent question. Even if you had just been imagining it, it couldn’t have been good to be compared to pests that squatted on the roofs of people’s homes.

“This is about this morning, isn’t it?”

He nods. Leon then breathes out through his nose and closes his eyes. You gaze at his closed eyelids and his long, dark eyelashes for a long time, and through them you can almost see the darkness that he’s seeing. Odd, discolored shapes loom up in it, floating up only to disappear.

“....Don’t get caught up in Team Yell’s pretty words or catchy slogans, Gloria. Most people in the world aren't trying to be free. They just _think_ they are. It's all an illusion. If they really were set free from the world, most people wouldn’t know what to do with their lives! Remember that. People prefer to not be free."

“Including you?"

Leon’s face takes on an awkward in between expression, like he’s agreeing with himself and yet still fighting with the idea. “I prefer that, yeah.”

 _People prefer to live in cages?_ You shake your head. “I can’t... understand that.”

He stops in his tracks to gaze at you. Next to Leon, there’s a sign on a row of red rose bushes that have been freshly sprayed with some kind of liquid. The sign reads:

_WARNING! PESTICIDE-TREATED AREA. KEEP OFF FOR 24 HOURS_

As if to illustrate his point, Leon then points to the wall that separates the Galar’s capital city from the Wild Area. “Why do you think there’s a utterly massive wall between Wyndon and the rest of Galar? Venture a guess.”

”I couldn’t tell you,” you say.

“...the people who build high, strong walls are the ones who survive the best and the rest get _crushed into the dirt._ They’re the strongest! And whoever’s the strongest is the one who’s the most successful in this world.”

You look at his checkerboard cape, studded all over with logos from various international sponsors and corporations. Being able to sell yourself exemplified success, the way Rose and Leon saw it. It meant people were willing to buy _whatever_ you had for sale.

Knowing this, you’re feeling worse and worse about accepting Rose’s proposal. Just what had you agreed to in the first place...?

“Is that what Chairman Rose told you?” you say. “Rose himself isn't looking after every little detail of your life, okay? So forget about him for a while. You really think people want to live all boxed in with white lines?”

“Rose’s fiancée is telling me to forget him,” Leon says with a note of amusement.

“Rose isn’t my keeper. Didn’t he sponsor you too?”

”Yes, that’s right. I don’t quite get on with the Chairman as often as I would like, but he made me feel like I should try and make something of myself. He made me feel—I don't know— _connected to the world at large.”  
_

You’re still not understanding, so he sighs.

“Right then, I’ll give it a go from your perspective… Wouldn’t you want to be like a rose? You’ve accepted Rose’s proposal to come live in Rose Tower, so that should be easy enough for you to understand. You wouldn’t prefer to bloom in a well tended garden... Delicate, lovely, easily cared for, living in a place that’s made especially for you?”

“Even if that comes at the cost of your freedom?”

You realize then that Leon liked the rose garden because the garden was contained, perfectly manicured and maintained, artificially perfect, and that brought him peace. Oddly, in a way of thinking, they are kindred spirits.

Every part of his public identity is manufactured precisely to appeal to the Galar people, from his personality to his diet to his Pokémon, even his signature Charizard, which was the most popular Pokémon in the region.

You’d thought Galar’s love of the man was unconditional. You now understand it is exactly the opposite.

You say, kicking a stone down the street, “...I’d rather be like a dandelion.”

“A weed! You’re confident about that answer?”

“Well... Dandelions put down roots almost anywhere where the wind will carry them... 

They’re almost impossible to destroy. They’re survivors. Their roots are strong, so they’re not easily swayed…

They’re always ready to fly in the breeze that will take them somewhere else, to new adventures, new lands, new friends...”

”Yet there is no place for a weed in a rose garden,” he notes.

You bump into his shoulder. “I’ve just tricked you all into thinking that I’m a rose. Chairman Rose will figure it out and let me go before long, you‘ll see.”

“Well...”

_”...I’d never let you go, just like that.”_

_What?_ You glance at him. Against the night sky, Leon’s hair is a shade of violet so dark it’s just shy of black. His dusky skin is darker than yours, which just makes the color of his amber colored eyes stand out that much more.

Clearing his throat, he explains, “Look. The people at Rose Tower have become quite fond of you, Gloria; it isn’t possible for us to simply leave you be, is it? Rose aside, for one, Oleana tolerates you, which is a minor miracle for the woman! And Bede actually seems to like you, and I was fairly convinced he despised anything with a pulse.”

”And you?”  


_What about you, Leon?_

He raises an eyebrow. “Me? Well, who knows, really.” 

” _You_ do.”

”Do I now? I’d say you’re putting the Rapidash before the cart! Who can say what that unbeatable Champion’s thinking?”

You shove him. “You’re so full of it,” you snap, turning away to head your separate ways into the castle.  Leon only grins in response. 

But you gradually come to an understanding as you look up at the brilliantly vibrant stained glass window in Wyndon Castle, which depicts a princess embracing the head of a familiarly scaled dragon. 

The people in Rose Tower adopted Leon, in their own kind of way, and now they’ve adopted you.

You’re not entirely sure if you should have let them.

* * *

  
The same night, the Galar Champion drops down onto your bed. He can smell your scent, warm and familiar, as you lightly stir in your sleep. The blazing light in your eyes dimmed to a glow in the dark of night.

As Leon gazes at your sleeping figure, he turns over the silver pendant around your neck. Despite the metal’s heft, it has a pleasant and cooling feeling. With every turn of the pendant in the crook of his palm, the champion turns over the images of you in his mind... 

“I like to be free,” you had said.

Then you smiled at him. There was nothing insincere about that smile. It was just the smile of someone who knew that she liked to smile.

He knew then that he’d need to follow you, because he knew what happened to princesses who aren’t protected from the world.

And then, exactly like a dragon to a sleeping princess, Leon whispers, “As long as _this place_ remains between you and me, nothing will ever hurt you when I’m beside you. You know that, don’t you?”

He winds a lock of your hair around a teak fingertip. Your breathing, little more than soft puffs of air, eases some of the knot in his chest. He lets the pendant fall onto your chest and tucks it in between your shirt and bra.

Thinking on it now, Leon had been lucky. When he had become Champion, he’d had his pick of any type of woman he’d wanted. Rose had made sure of it. All drop-dead, gorgeous women, each beautiful in her own way, and they let him have whatever kind of sex whenever he felt like it.

But there now there’s you, and you are brilliantly shining.

“Rose himself isn't looking after every little detail of your life, okay? So forget about him for a while!”

_I can forget about him, but how will I forget about YOU?_

Thoughts like these cruelly twist him as he watches you in your sleep.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes + Comments
> 
> 1. _chat shit_ : bullshit, nonsense


	10. Tit for Tat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !Fallers الفتيات هم

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, new episode of Twilight Wings and we finally get one on Oleana! I’m pretty stoked, she’s one of my favorite characters in Sword and Shield, and they did a decent job of characterizing her. Smiles all round.
> 
> That being said, thank you to the people who are sticking with me! As always, comments (yes, even a <3) are appreciated and loved! Even if you totally hate something, I’d like to hear it!

* * *

  
_Spikemuth City. 00:24 AM_

-click-

After an initial stretch of static-tinged silence and more than a fair bit of fumbling in the dark, a young man finally answers his Rotom Phone. His voice, tinged with a Brummy accent common amongst the lower classes in Galar, is similar to that of the Team Yell grunts, yet distinct in its own way.

“Sigh... finally decided to call your good for nothing sibling, Marnie?”

His sister’s voice, similar to his yet blisteringly high-pitched, is muffled and inaudible over the phone. More dejected sighing from the young man.

“...You’re shocked your protest at Rose Tower didn’t go well? Why? Expected a mosh pit of applause? Unfortunately, our _ideals_ don’t sell as many tickets as exciting blood sports. And the Galar League nowadays cares far more about money than they do about helpin’ people. Makes my soul feel like cryin’.”

Marnie’s reply becomes more frantic with occasional squeaky interjections by her morpeko. The man frowns.

“Lemme get this all untwisted, little sis. You wanna challenge Chairman Rose at Rose Tower, even though you know you’re gonna lose when he sics the Champion on you? You _mental_ , Marn?”

At her brother’s last statement, the phone screeches with loud feedback. Rotom’s face twists in a pained grimace; its trainer smiles thinly at it in a way of apology. He then retorts:

“Yeah. I know. I KNOW! Man, what’d I do to be stuck with such an _ungrateful_ little sis? You don’t think that I miss them too? Sheesh. You think stormin’ the place and accusin’ Rose of disappearin’ trainers is gonna solve any-bloody-thing—“

“Me? What am _I_ gonna do? Like I said, I’m not being humble, I really am not a great Gym Leader! It’s not like I have any leverage over Rose, either… the man _loathes_ me. There isn’t even a Power Spot in Spikemuth, for crying out loud. No wonder nobody ever comes ‘round here.”

“What’s that? Gloria? What’d she do now?”

At his sister’s response, the young man scratches his head, then absentmindedly pulls at stray black flyaways. “Catastrophe...? At Motostoke Stadium? What’s that got to do with you? You still hate her, don’t ‘cha?”

[more indistinct audio.]

“What you’re sayin’ is… because of what happened, you think she’ll be able to handle _the whole truth behind Dynamax?_ Doubtful but who knows, little sis. I’d like to have a little more truth around here, by all means. Know the truth and it’ll set you free, that’s what they’re always singin’.”

“So after that lame excuse for a concert, you think you can have a heart to heart with her…? Bully for you! Invite yourself in and have a little bit of fun, then. Don’t do anythin’ crazy and get arrested, you hear?”

Before hanging up, her older brother adds: “Oh, that reminds me, Marnie. There’s somethin’ I wanted to tell you.”

His voice drops to a low, sibilant whisper.

“Steer clear of that bloke— Champion Leon, you hear me? I saw what he’d done to one of the gym trainers, and I’ll be damned if _he isn’t a regular Jekyll-and-Hyde type._ Even if you want to help Gloria, I don’t want you disappearin’ on me either. Not even worth it.”

-click-

* * *

  
At breakfast the following morning, Rose asks you, “You’re going to face Gym Leader Kabu, yes? We’ve prepared your modified Dynamax band and uniform for the match this afternoon.”

You listlessly smear some jam on a Galar muffin and nod. Hopefully they’d give you a decent outfit this time. You didn’t have high hopes. 

“Oh, and we’ve prepared your Pokémon party as well.”

This causes you to look up, alarmed. Rose smiles. Smiles kindly as he always did. He thinks he’s doing you a kindness. “You have no reason to be concerned, Gloria. I’ve ensured you have powerful Pokémon at your disposal.”

The boy raises his voice. “She doesn’t have to Dynamax, does she, Mister Rose? I thought it was so cool when she won before...”

He pats Jon’s head. “She will do her best, for Galar’s future.” _For yours as well,_ Rose meant to add, but did not need to say it.

During your battle with Kabu, you spend the first half of the match frantically switching through your entire party of Pokémon. What was that about Chairman Rose being a Steel-type specialist? He ensured that all of your party members were Steel-type, so you couldn’t use type matchups against Kabu, the _Fire-type_ gym leader.

In his own fiendishly devious way, the Chairman was _forcing_ you to use Dynamax. You’d lose otherwise.

And he knew it.

You now look down to your Dynamax band, which flowed with a feverishly bright light. You press the display, and the sound of a high-pitched ringing in your ears becomes more and more intense. You release your last Pokémon from a crimson red pokeball —a strange one with a little hex-nut head and squishy body.

It is quite cute. Probably wouldn’t help you win, though.

Then you hear a voice. A young boy’s voice. ”...she shouldn’t have to do it...”

Jon?

”Gloria... We all believe in you!” the boy shouts to you, and then tugs at Leon’s cape. Looking up at the older man, he says, “Tell her she doesn’t have to Dynamax if she doesn’t want to… tell her that everything’s going to be okay!”

A Macro Cosmos worker snaps, “Hey, don’t disturb the Champion, you brat!”

“Mate, it’s all right, let the kid talk—“

The Pokémon League officials pull him away from the Champion, and the drawing he had been working on during the match falls to the ground, along with several crayons. All you can do is watch helplessly as they smash the crayons into little nubs under their sneakers. 

The referee of this match, a Macro Cosmos grunt you’d later know as Eric, pushes you. “Hey, focus on the match. They’ll take care of that brat for you. Or shut him up.”

> _“It’s only a matter of time for this one as well…”  
> _

He shoves you again. “Did you hear me? Or are you deaf—“

You whirl around wildly to face him, the sound of the ringing in your ears growing to a higher pitch, an unforgivingly violent one. Your teeth grind, the molars smashing against each other so hard and furious that they could be ground down into dust.

“Don’t TOUCH ME!” you shriek, your voice unhinged, broken. Jon, pulled away from the stadium, his broken crayons trampled underfoot, are now at the forefront of your mind. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, _don’t touch me!”_

“Yo, what’s wrong with you,” Eric says _,_ slowly stepping back and away from you. He’s muttering something into his mic, but you don’t care about that, and look at the crowd. Jon is no longer present amidst the mass of people.

You storm towards him, and grab the lapels of Eric’s jacket. “Where did they take him?”

“Challenger—“ Kabu, who had been watching your increasingly belligerent exchange with this League grunt, returns his own weakened Pokémon to its ball, and approaches you. “What is the matter? Why do the flames of madness burn in your eyes?”

“Who cares about that brat—“ he stammers angrily. “Just follow Chairman Rose’s orders and _maybe_ you’ll see him again!”

_You promised you’d protect me, didn’t you? Gloria?_

Without warning, the energy from the Wishing Star in your Dynamax Band sparks wildly and flies around you, striking the ground in front of you. Kabu, accompanied by Eric and three Macro Cosmos grunts, fall back to the ground, and back away, a look of utter terror cast on their faces.

Your heart is pounding hard enough to put white dots in front of your eyes and you pull your hair with both hands, almost tearing it out by the roots. 

And you scream. 

Leon’s voice is audible from up high on a stadium box. “Rose, she’s gone utterly mad! Stop the match! _Stop it now!”_

Chairman Rose frowns at him and raises a hand as if to tell the Champion, _stay put._ But then there’s a sick groaning noise from the rafters as the Motostoke stadium scaffolding supporting the LED screen on top of the arena begins to warp...

The combined power from Meltan’s body and the Wishing Star sends the television display crashing down in a wild frenzy of live wires and black glass and steel beams. You don’t care. Don’t care about any of it. Let it all be destroyed. You want to smash to pieces.

Smash it ALL to pieces.

The foundation of the bleachers groans and live wires come free from the wiring of the stadium lights and spark all around, metal spires thrust out of the ground and grow like plants all around you. The pull of the limitless power from the Wishing Star was irresistible, and you tap into it, feeling some otherworldly force, _the ancient magic that you dreamed of when you were young,_ calling to you as you wreck havoc on the stadium:

_Awaken! Awaken! Awaken!  
_

Meltan grows and grows, becoming huger and more monstrous as it realizes its evolved form, Melmetal. It tears the wires out of the stadium lights, and they flicker again and again as the electricity begins, experimentally, to fail.

The stadium lights dim as the whirr of the backup generators begin operations, and you whirl around wildly, looking for something, _anything_ to destroy. The front row stands twist and deform into an organic mess of steel until their former shape is unrecognizable.

Just beside the seats, you then see Hop and Victor, similarly terrified of you, helping others to escape from the pandemonium at the stadium. You’re filled with self-loathing for yourself and for what you’ve done.

_Don’t mind them, destroy it all and begin the world anew. I can help you, I WILL HELP YOU!_

A vision of a scaled, tortured dragon pokemon comes unbidden to your mind, and you’re overwhelmed by the sight of Wyndon in flames and the world in ruin.

Your eyes glance to Chairman Rose and his entourage in their private seating. Before you can attack them, however, a pair of strong, muscular arms wrap around your chest, pinning your arms to your sides and grappling with you as you attempt to fight him off. “Let me go, LET ME GO!” you scream, not recognizing the wild, feral voice that’s come out of your throat. Bursts of furiously bright energy spark around you, and his grip tightens as you try to wrench free. 

“What’s this madness that’s come over you, Gloria,” Leon shouts. “Whatever you’re seeing is an illusion! It’s not real—“

He’s cut short by the sound of his Charizard, roaring in pain. Melmetal had raked it across the belly with a Metal Claw. 

Instinctually, you want to pull back, protect yourself, fight him off, but his body was so _warm._ Sharp metal spires like knives protrude up from the ground and tear his red cape, causing it to fall away in the wind in tatters. A wave of high-grade panic spreads across the crowd, shouting and screaming as the metal warps and twists around you, forming a sort of cage around the pair of you.

A feminine voice shouts, “Don’t just STAND there, you fools! Someone go and help the Champion! He can’t keep that girl restrained for long!”

One grunt yells to another, “The _E-Max beta_ project has failed! Commence emergency operations…!”

Another says, “We’ve gotten the hypnosis from the Hypno ready and they’re standing by on your signal, Miss Oleana–“

_E-Max? Was there a power that surpassed even Gigantamax?_

Before you can contemplate the concept of this further, a wave of calming thoughts washes over your mind as waves of psychic energy are directed your way. It’s not enough to stop your rampage. Melmetal takes one monstrously engorged arm and dashes the line of Psychic type Pokémon to playing cards in the wind.

The crowd is frightened into a full blown fervid pitch as more destruction is wrought on Motostoke Stadium, and teeming masses of people stampede out of their seats. It didn’t matter what you or Melmetal could get your hands on, all you wanted was to CRUSH and DESTROY and RUIN. What was once a beautiful grassy arena is now a smoldering, blackened wreck of warped metal and ugly electronic remains. 

Leon’s large hand then clamps over your eyes, preventing you from seeing further. “I’m gutted it came to this, Gloria. I really am,” he murmurs sadly, his voice touched with a mournful, apologetic sort of tone.

To someone you can’t identify, he then rasps into the mic at his chin: “She best not suffer, or I SWEAR I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”

Static feedback in return. Then a voice from the mic. “... ..Understood, Champion!”

At that very moment, Leon separates himself from you, turning away on his heel, and a tranquilizer dart hits your thigh. Enraged, you tear the needle out of your skin and blood spurts out of your artery. But as you take one, two steps forward, reaching desperately towards your Pokémon, you stumble forward as the once stable ground becomes water underneath your feet and you fall to your knees. 

The Macro Cosmos grunts swarm you at that very moment, and you’re too tired to fight them all off, even as you writhe and struggle with the last flickering embers of your strength. With your arms and legs bound together, you’re laid down on the ground, and the remnants of the cape you had torn are laid on you.

No need for you to worry now,” Leon says gently, his broad figure casting a dark shadow as he stands above you. His voice is watery and insubstantial as your surroundings fade into a haze around you, unconsciousness finally coming to claim you.

He closes your eyes with one heavy hand. “It’s over, all right? Rest well, and we’ll have this sorted when you wake up...”

And then it was all darkness, no stars.  
  


* * *

  
You don’t dream that night. Your head is filled with a horrible, pounding migraine, and mixed with the haze brought on with the tranquilizer, it was as if your subconscious had been put to sleep. 

When you wake, you lie there, staring with dazed eyes at the ceiling of the sick room. An unfamiliar, masculine scent fills your senses. You look down and see that you’re still wearing the uniform you had worn at Wyndon Stadium, and the lingering smell of Leon’s aftershave still clung to your clothes.

Through your blurred vision, you feel a man, still breathing in your ear, holding your body close to his and you can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady and full of vitality. You feel a confusing blend of pleasure and terror at the warmth of his body in the evening chill. Unlike the man from two nights ago, he makes no move to debase you: he only sits there on top of your bed and holds you to his chest, as if you were some fragile thing that might break if he wasn’t careful enough.

His fingers carefully rake through your hair and untangling knots. It is strange: your hair was usually cut short in a bob, so the fact that he did this meant it had grown longer than you remembered. 

You then hear static from the walkie-talkie at his hip...

> _“Champion... needed at Hammerlocke... Generator going haywire...”_

He breathes into the device, ”Is that so? I’ll be right over, then. Don’t conduct any more tests without me, all right?”

Instinctively, you hold your breath as you listen to the man’s deep voice.

_...Leon?_

Your heart beats against your ribs as panicked as a newborn Wooloo brought into the world. What was Leon doing here? Why was he holding you like that? What had happened after the match at Motostoke?

After their exchange ends, Leon sets you down on the bed and covers your body with the duvet. “I’ll be back before long— I just have to look after a few things. _Housekeeping,_ we’ll call it! But don’t you fret, I’ll keep you safe.” He brushes your hair out of your face and leans in so that his breath is on your ear. This lasts for a few moments, and then he pulls away, thinking better of it.

The door quietly clicks shut and you immediately sit up in your bed, your face flushed and your heart hammering in your chest. Leon was here and he was in your room and he was embracing you and he said that he would keep you safe. This was so much information to process that you quickly become dizzy and need to lie down again. 

What had just happened?

Your face brushes your cheek like he had and then you shake your head. You need to get some sleep, but you couldn’t sleep after what had just happened.

“I haven’t seen such havoc since the legendary Pokémon in Hoenn underwent _Primal Reversion,”_ the older man says to Rose, the next room over. “She’s a danger to other trainers. You must know this—“

That’s Kabu, you realize. Without thinking, you limp into the meeting room next to yours. 

Leader Kabu looks at you. His grey-brown eyes are worn down.

You’re about to stammer your apologies when he stumbles over to you. You see that he’s on crutches. His left leg is wrapped in a cast. 

“You would be _capable of great harm,_ if you wished,” he says lowly, clasping your hands like a damned man. “Is that why Rose chose you...?”

Almost frightened, the older man snaps, dropping the fire badge into your cupped palm, “Take this. Take this and never return.”

“...Kabu’s recommending you be disqualified,” Rose says calmly after the older man leaves the meeting room. “Your little pyrotechnic show seems to have frightened some fragile souls. I told him that unless he wants to see the Galar League pull all funding from Motostoke, he’d hold his tongue.”

You shake your head. “It’s not his fault! Please don’t punish him. I did it, I wrecked the stadium. I don’t trust myself to Dynamax again. I almost lost control...“

Surprising even you, Rose exclaims, “But everyone’s waiting to see what you’ll do next! Don’t you see? With that match, you’ve become an overnight sensation. It was a splendid battle. The ratings for the broadcast were... are phenomenal.”

You whirl around. You had just wrecked a stadium, and Rose was giving you his hearty congratulations? You could hardly believe it. “I don’t want to Dynamax! I can’t. _I can’t.”_

He purses his lips. “It’s as I informed you before, Gloria, but the crowds the world over want to see Dynamax. If you insist in... this hardheadedness, I’ll have to rescind my sponsorship. It’ll be an utter shame of course, and I absolutely abhor having to do it.” Rose spoke of taking away his sponsorship as if he was discussing the ruin of a fine vase.

But that was Rose’s ultimatum: Dynamax or lose your sponsorship. _Your choice._

It’s a decision that you know what choice you’ll make, and you tell Rose so.

The older man sighs. “You can gather your things from your room once you’re feeling recovered. You may keep the key ring, however! Hopefully... you will realize just how foolish you’re being, Gloria. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I hate to see such talent squandered.”

But then to the Pokémon League grunts, as you depart the room, Rose jerks his head in your direction. _Follow her._

* * *

  
Late that evening, you stoop there in an alleyway of Stow-on-Side and blink back tears. 

How could everything change so quickly? Where _was_ your old restaurant? Have you gotten lost somewhere? Maybe it was the wrong address?

You pull out the scrap of paper that Ollie had given you before you departed for Wyndon Castle. On the other side of the paper with Piers’ number scrawled on it was the restaurant’s address and telephone number. 

He’d torn off a piece of the delivery menu and written the man’s name on it. You peer closely at the paper. Man? Or woman? Piers was a man’s name, wasn’t it?

You lower the piece of paper to look up at the restaurant. Talk about major redecoration. The formerly open air seafood restaurant had been replaced with a gaudy buffet, packed to the gills with tourists and locals alike. 

How could this happen? In such a short space of time?  
  
“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” a waitress had asked you, frowning at the slip of paper with the delivery address. “Isn’t the Captain’s Table in Hulbury? Why would a old, landlocked town like ours specialize in seafood?”

You could scream. How did she expect you to know the question to  that?

But you had gotten nowhere with your questioning, and had nowhere to stay, because you hadn’t met a single familiar face in the town. Just as you’re about to doze off in the back alley behind the restaurant, next to the dumpster, a foot finds your stomach and kicks it lightly.

“Hey. You can’t sleep here on the street.”

You recognize the girl’s voice from yesterday’s protest and roll over.  _Marnie?_

“Why are you here?”

“I was around,” she says evasively. She’s not as outwardly afraid of you as many had been following the destruction in Motostoke Stadium. “Rose kick you out?”

“I left,” you say, unwilling to divulge to her the ultimatum the Chairman had given you. Why  _is_ she being so nice to you? If Marnie could have vaporized you on the Wyndon stadium pitch at the induction ceremony, she would have done it instantly, and with extreme prejudice.

“You lost your marbles,” Marnie says, smart enough to maintain her distance. “I’ve never seen anyone react that badly to Dynamax in my LIFE. Your eyes went all white and blank, like you were possessed by something…”

“...I’m a mad woman. So leave me,” you say, turning over to face the trash bin. Wafts of rotting food nearly cause you to heave.

You’d think this get her to leave you alone, but her shadow still casts itself over you.

The younger woman scoffs. “You won’t last the night without a hot meal, girlie. C’mon. I know which way to go.”

“...What’re you doing in Stow-On-Side?” Marnie asks, pulling out a smoke from a pack of cigarettes after a while of walking. The packaging is stranger than any you’ve ever seen, matte black and simply marked NOIR.

You look up to the old restaurant, now bright with light. It’s supper time. “I used to work at the old seafood restaurant here. They had the best Krabby cakes.” You smile wistfully and kick a rock down the road.

_But I was just play-acting, this entire time._

Her eyes glance at you as if to ask you to explain.

“Me and my coworkers used to have lots of fun, we would flirt, steal men’s pocket change,” you laugh, more to yourself than her. “That’s how I met Chairman Rose. I stole his watch.”

Marnie’s taken aback. “And everyone’s painting you as a saint.”

“They _are_ broad paint strokes,” you admit. You feel it even here, the thrumming of some ancient power, it seems to live in the veins of this city. You close your eyes. You can’t lose control again, not here.

Regaining your composure, you turn to Marnie and fight the sisterly urge to scold her. She’s a little _young_ to be smoking, isn’t she?

“You should take care of yourself, Marnie,” you say, watching her puff on her smoke.

She takes one look at the disapproval cast on your face and giggles. “Oh, lay off. They’re  _clove cigarettes._ You’ve got a look like my big brother in your eye. He always wrinkles his nose when he sees me pull them out.”

Now that Marnie wasn’t too upset at you anymore, she was quite the stoic, well mannered young woman. She said _please_ to little old ladies and _thank you_ to every person on the street and gave her Pokémon to hold for excited fans while she signed their autographs. 

After the two of you buy a greasy paper of chips at a street vendor and split it between you, Marnie and her morpeko, you ask her:

“Marnie… why do you want to become Champion?”

You figure it’s a fair question to ask. At the commencement ceremony of the Champion Cup, she had been one of your most outspoken critics, but she had never mentioned the reason why she wanted to compete in the first place. 

Marnie takes a few moments to consider what you’ve said. Her hands curl up in fists as she looks into the dawning horizon. 

“...because _the truth,_ repeating over and over, is still so far away from any of us.”

 _The truth?_ You look at her curiously. What kind of truth was she talking about…?

Thankfully, she doesn’t need any prompting from you to continue. Tears welling up in her eyes, she mumbles, “On my League card, it says that I wanted to bring back people to my old hometown… Spikemuth. And that’s true. But it’s not the _whole_ truth.”

“It’s like… every time my Pokémon Dynamax, I can _feel_ them, crying out in pain.”

Dynamaxed Pokémon in pain? It was a far-fetched theory for sure, but this is the most you’ve ever heard Marnie speak, so you aren’t about to stop her.

“...Rose knows the Pokémon are suffering. But he won’t do anything to stop it! It’s all for the sake of his League and his hand-picked Champion. He’s got _something planned,_ I just know it. But if Leon keeps defeating trainers for Rose, keeps Dynamax as a part of Galar, they’ll get more and more powerful until no one can stop them—“

This causes you to stop in your tracks, and dig your heels into the ground. “Stop it. Just stop it.” 

You clench your fists. “Rose may be wrong, but Leon’s not like that. Not at all.”

“But you _feel_ it too,” Marnie retorts, angry. “Y’know what I’m saying is true! Back at Motostoke–”

“Even if your theory is true! Leon may have a big head, but he’s NOT evil, Marnie.”

The young woman gives off a little scoff. “What do you call it when good people let bad people do bad things and do nothing to stop them? If he’s not evil, is he just _stupid?”_ She then chews on her lip. “As long as he has his Championship title, Leon doesn’t care about anybody he ends up hurtin’. And you’re _really_ stupid if you think different.”

“That‘s... so horrible, Marnie.”

“When everything around you’s horrible, that becomes the new normal. And then what’s normal begins to look horrible too.”

She’s become quiet again, annoyed she wasn’t able to convince you of Leon’s guilt. She only speaks again once she’s calmed down. “...That’s why I want to become Champion. I want to put an _end_ to this. Everythin’ about the Pokémon League in Galar. I want to live in a world where Pokémon and humans can be free.”

Her mascara-framed eyes look into yours, apple-green and piercing. 

“A free world, where people can finally hear the _high roar of wolves…_ it means more to me than anything.”

It was a roundabout way of answering the question, but you now understood why Marnie wanted to be Galar’s Champion. She didn’t want to be famous. 

She wanted to change the world.

“You need a new shirt,” Marnie says pointedly, after the two of you have finished eating. You knew that, but no boutiques were open at this time. You say something in the way of that to the younger woman, and she laughs.

“Doesn’t mean you can't find it somewhere else,” she says, and jerks her head in the way of a nearby League merchandise store, its storefront illuminated by the rising sun.

Unfortunately for you, the store is lacking in options for apparel. The shopkeeper, after being endlessly harangued by you and Marnie, finally brings out a white t-shirt with a photo of the Galar Champion screen printed on it. 

Your heart sinks as you look into Leon’s eyes. “Do you... have any other shirts?”

The shopkeeper frowns. “This is a memorabilia store, ladette! We only carry official Galar League merchandise, like posters, CDs, and plush toys. In any case, this is the only shirt in your size.” She holds out the shirt, shaking it impatiently and Leon’s printed face trembles in the wind. _Take it or leave it._

Marnie whispers, “Cut holes in it later.”

You frown. How could this be the only shirt they had for sale? “I need to try it on.”

In the dressing room, you look at the white t-shirt with Leon’s face on it and sigh. You dig your fingernail into the fabric and begin to tear through it, little by little, until there are two strips of fabric at the bottom of the shirt you can tie at the waist. What was once an over-large t shirt now became a tie front crop top. It looks quite chic, albeit a bit blasphemous. 

It’s fine. As long as you didn’t have to look at his face, it’s fine. You don’t think you could bear that. Not now.

As Marnie and you stand at the front checkout, however, you spot another trainer. She’s wearing a pair of stylish sunglasses, and is dressed in a teal tank top and grey leggings. _Getting her morning workout in, no doubt._

When you reach to pay for the shirt, you notice an iced tea, the plastic cup decorated with outlines of cute Pokémon, still on the counter. It must have belonged to her, and you hear the door jingle as she’s about to leave. You rush after her.

”Wait, you forgot your iced tea,” you say, running out of the store and into the sunlit street.

”Thanks! I spent a _fortune_ on this... I’d be devastated if I forgot my Roserade tea! I have such bad luck, forgetting it everywhere—“

“...!”

The older girl lifts up her stylish sunglasses and Sonia’s eyes, mischievous and bright, look back at you. “Well, I guess my luck just turned around, because I’ve found just the girl trainer I’ve been looking for!”  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes + Comments
> 
> 1\. bully for you: good for you, usually meant mockingly/sarcastically 
> 
> 2\. Brummy/Birmingham accent: an accent of the people who live in Birmingham, a region of England that is located in the West Midlands. It’s frequently described as the most untrustworthy accent in the UK, but I think that’s overstating it a bit. The intonation is similar to a sort of singsong.
> 
> Fitting for Piers, no? 
> 
> 3\. Tit for tat: an English saying, the infliction of an injury or insult in return for one that one has suffered.


	11. A Heroine, Like Scattered Dandelion Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more I dive into you, the more my heart goes breaking into two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...let’s go. 
> 
> (As always, thanks for the support! I’m super happy with any and all types of feedback, so if you’ve got any burning questions/statements you can’t hold back, I’d love to hear it!)

* * *

You had expected Professor Magnolia’s house to be a small quaint dwelling on Route 2, which is why the three of you almost walk past a library and laboratory that looks more like a cathedral, complete with rose-cut stained glass and a small bell tower stop the roof.

Sonia giggles as she pulls you back into the entrance. “What cheek! We’re here you know. I don’t live in a ruddy _barn._ Gran said she wanted to see you, ‘member?”

You tilt your head to the side. “For what?”

“For what, the girl asks. Easy! You’re here for a Pokédex!”

A Pokédex? Were you really entitled to something like that? Your face becomes flushed with happiness. Wanting to share in your joy, you turn to the young girl behind you.

“Marnie? You should get a Pokédex too—“ you say, whirling around. There’s no one behind you. Sonia frowns. 

“I didn’t see anyone else with you when we left the store,” she says, and your shoulders drop. Marnie had gone, then. You’re a little disappointed to see her go; you and the young woman weren’t on the best of terms, but you wanted to thank her. Despite Marnie being a scraggly slip of a girl, her small presence, no matter how ephemeral, had made you feel less alone.

“Gran! We’re home!” Sonia announces proudly, opening the door in a wide arc. “And I brought a guest!”

Looking around, you’re amazed at the sight of the laboratory. It looks grand, and you suppose it’s even grander in the light of day when everyone in town can see it while on their morning walks. Thick tomes of Pokémon research are stacked by the walls and fill the bookshelves, large leafy plants in sturdy terra-cotta planters fill the room amidst brightly colored furniture. 

As Sonia closes the front door, a small dog Pokémon comes to your feet and wags its tail. It’s well fed, and its fur is smooth and shiny. You kneel down on your toes and pat it on the head. _Good boy._

“Sonia? Back from the shops already?” an old woman calls out from the kitchenette. Sonia sighs and gives you a knowing look. This is a girl who does a _lot_ of shopping. 

“...yes, but a girl needs a bit of joy in her life, too!” she retorts, setting down her bags. “Where’s the nice china? I’m starved, and Gloria said she could devour a people-sized Tauros on the way! I’m not trying to be _eaten_ here!”

“I said no such thing,” you mutter. 

“I know,” Sonia says happily.

“You’re almost worse than Leon, that man eats me out of house and home whenever he comes about,” The older woman grumbles, hobbling over with two mismatched paisley mugs and a plate of crusty bread and cheese. She starts a bit when she sees you. “Victor, is that you?” 

“No, I’m Gloria,” you say, correcting her. She presses her lips together. Under the old woman’s scrutiny, you sweat. Was Professor Magnolia this intimidating to everyone?

“Must be my bad eyesight,” she says finally, setting down the china plate, decorated with adorable Pokémon. “So you’re the young woman who accepted Rose’s sorry proposal?”

“Grandmum,” Sonia says, a tone of warning in her voice. _Don’t badmouth Chairman Rose in front of his fiancée,_ she meant to say, you can see it written all over her heart-shaped face. 

You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you say. “Yes, I am.” _Was._

Magnolia’s back and shoulders are bent and her hands arthritic, but her eyes are sharp and her smile welcoming. “Come closer, child,” she says, beckoning you forward with one bony finger.

“Have you received a Pokédex?” she asks you. 

You frown. “No.”

She matches your unhappy expression, pouting with painted lips. “Oh, pooh. That’s not good at all. How will you know how these small wonders such as Pokemon live? I should have a spare Pokédex hanging about. Wait here, child.”

She raps Sonia’s hand with a wooden spoon, shaking her head at her granddaughter’s trendy mixed tea drink. “And drinking cold tea is a _sin,_ Sonia. Fetch the pitcher of Fresh Water from the refrigerator while the tea’s on to boil.”

After a bit of complaining, she goes off to fetch the water, and sets down a small plastic pitcher filled with iced water, filled with sliced limes and oranges and berries. 

“What do you think?” Sonia asks, sipping at her drink. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say in a hushed tone. All of these thickly bound books, just waiting to be read, all of these beautiful plants and Pokémon to be studied… it was a little overwhelming.

Sonia brightens. “Gran’ll be pretty chuffed to hear you say that. She’s always having us dust to keep this place in tip top shape!”

You have to fight back a laugh. You could just imagine the sight, you listening without talking, just watching the way the old woman tramping around her home, feather duster in hand, her energetic, unstoppable, with her mound of faded ginger hair. 

But it’s not the cleanliness of the place that has you amazed— the staff at Rose Tower could out-clean _anyone_ — but as you open your mouth to explain, you hear a great flutter of wings outside the lab, and suddenly, a gust of wind blows the laboratory door open, and it slams against the bookcase. Just outside, a man dismounts a large winged Pokémon, then stumbles into the doorway.

“How’s it that I always get bloody lost on the way here?” the man swears, returning his Pokémon to its ball and closing the door behind him. He knocks the mud off of his riding boots on the _WELCOME HOME!_ rug.

“Because you’re a right sight awful with directions,” Sonia retorts, patting her small corgi Pokémon on the head. “Shouldn’t you have brought Yamper with you? Also, you’re in Gran’s lab: you know how she feels about you swearing in her house.”

The young man swears again. If he _did_ know, he didn’t seem to think much of the old professor's self-imposed rules. But at the sound of his grumbling, your heart quickens at the familiar sound of the bravado in the man’s voice, that ringing confidence that rang as true and clear as a bell. You beg it to be still. 

Undoing his hair from the ponytail he had tied it in, Leon groans, “Sonia, please spare me the lecture about swearing like I’m a schoolboy again. Stars above, it's been more than a decade and your grandmother swears more than the two of us combined—“

At the sight of you, Leon halts in the doorway, and runs his hand through his tousle of dark hair, trying to make sense of it all. His eyes dart from you to Sonia to the dog and then back again to you.

“Well, don’t stand there _gawking,”_ Magnolia snaps, returning from the kitchen with your Pokédex in her hands. “Haven’t you seen two beautiful women in the same room before, boy?”  
  


* * *

  
You can’t look at Leon. You hadn’t talked with him since you had gone mental at Motostoke Stadium, save that entirely worrying scene when he was in your room. What could you have to say to him? As thanks for helping you, you had kicked and scratched and clawed at the poor man, even as he carried you out of the stadium and they had tranquilized you soon after. 

Besides, it wasn’t like you would have liked him to see you in your current state. You look like a mad woman; your hair is positively disheveled from your night on the street and your clothes are scuffed, never mind your crop top with Leon’s face on it. In comparison, the Champion’s practically dressed for an evening out, donning the same velvet red waistcoat and cream white slacks you had seen him in when the two of you had first met.

Professor Magnolia watches you, a suspicious frown deepening on her face as she looks from the Champion to you. “Out with it, then, Leon. I hardly think you’ve come over for a spot of tea and a nice chat. You don’t ever visit this old woman anymore. It’s enough to break my heart.”

Leon frowns. Apparently Magnolia’s words had hit a sore spot. His eyes still fixed on you, he says slowly, “Well! I had come looking in search of a certain trainer, but it looks like she found her way back to me.”

The old woman asks, now standing near you and her granddaughter, and placing the Pokédex on the table, “You’re looking for Gloria? Whatever for?”

Leon covers his face with his hat, and takes a seat next to the door. “I couldn’t tell you if I had to, Professor.”

Magnolia’s frown worsens into a full fledged scowl. Physically inserting herself between you and Leon, she snaps, “You’ll be out with it unless you want me to chase you out onto the street, child. What fool’s errand does Rose have you running now?”

This assertion causes Leon to suddenly stand up, knocking over his chair in anger. “You’re _very_ mistaken if you believe I go wherever Rose pleases,” he retorts indignantly. “Gloria left Rose Tower before dawn this morning, without alerting anyone to where she was going or if she would be back. I came… came to apologize.”

Sonia and her grandmother flash each other a look. Leon rolls his hazel eyes and sighs. “All right, you two.”

They bust out laughing. A dark flush comes over his face and Leon pulls his cap over his face to conceal his embarrassment. 

Pulling you in close, Sonia laughs, “You got Leon, the All-Mighty Monarch, and the Best Champion in All of Galar Ever, to _apologize?_ Are you a witch, Gloria?”

“No?” you squeak. All you knew how to do was cheap parlor tricks and sleights of hand. Hardly any witchy magic involved.

“Then explain how you’re working magic in the physical world! I can count on one hand how many times I’ve _ever heard_ Leon apologize!”

Indignantly, the young man stammers, pulling his baseball cap even further over his face, “Not true! I _do_ apologize.”

“Maybe when you were a wee one,” Magnolia scoffs. “But since you were inducted as Champion, I think not. Rose has pumped you full of hot air.”

“What are you apologizing for?” you ask Leon when their laughter dies down. “Its not your fault: I left because I...”

”Chairman Rose gave me an ultimatum. And I said that I couldn’t do it, so I took my things and left.”

This piques Professor Magnolia’s attention. She listens intently, tapping her fingers against a small notebook sticking up out of her pocket. “And what terms has Rose deemed you follow, Gloria?”

”I have to Dynamax at every televised gym battle or he won’t sponsor me for the Champion Cup.” _And you can’t go into the basement of Rose Tower. That too._

Sonia scoffs, and her mouth twitches in a sarcastic smile. “Oh, he’s a fine man, isn’t he, Leon!” Something about what Rose had said to you had brought up a long held simmering resentment for the young woman, who now looks at Leon with contempt. “You knew something about this?”

”I had _no idea,_ so I’ll thank you not to make assumptions, Sonia! Everything he was saying yesterday to me about the necessity of Dynamax makes sense now, but leave it up to him to pull some stunt like this. Anyways, I’ve come to take responsibility for fixing this mess.”

“You’ll take her back to Rose Tower,” Magnolia says, but she’s not asking Leon, she’s making a statement of his intentions. She doesn’t look at all happy by the prospect.

“It’s fine,” you say, surprising even yourself. “I’ll go back.”

“You just got here...” Magnolia’s granddaughter frowns, and that’s the thing about Sonia, really. You feel bad by making her feel bad. She has to be in her mid twenties, but looks maybe seventeen, all big blue eyes and red-headed wildness. 

But you had to return to Rose Tower— it’s not like you could go back to your old restaurant, which no longer existed. You had no place to return home to besides the tower, and you had your responsibilities there as well. Additionally, you felt like you were on the cusp of figuring out who you really were, closer to any kind of purpose you had ever had in your lifetime. 

Rose Tower, for the time being, would have to do. 

* * *

  
His Pokémon exhausted from the journey to Magnolia’s Lab, Leon had elected to hail a Knight Taxi back to Galar’s capital. The trip takes a while; you sleep for the majority of the ride. You hadn’t slept since leaving Rose Tower.  


When the two of you step out onto a Wyndon street near the river, the setting sun’s rays glinting and reflecting off of the water. Most of the buildings have already started to go dark. You rest near the Thames river, where throngs of tourists pass by, gazing at the wondrous sight of Wyndon at night. Boats shaped like various dragon Pokémon float lazily in the river’s current.

“During the cab ride, you were looking in that direction a fair bit,” the older man remarks, looking off towards the horizon. Despite the hour, sweat beads along his hairline. “Something interesting you’d like to share with your Champion?”

”...it’s beautiful,” you whisper in a hushed tone, transfixed by the sight before you.

A giant Ferris wheel towers over the backdrop of the city as a giant wheel circling lazily in the night sky, filling the darkness with animated, colorful lights. It’s the biggest Ferris wheel you’ve ever seen— perhaps even among the biggest in the world.

Leon’s eyes follow yours and come to rest on the Ferris wheel. He leans against the railing so that his profile matches a dragon’s, and scratches his beard. “You’d like to go up on the  _Galar Hurricane,_ eh?” 

He’s nonchalant about the offer, as if the brilliantly glittering Ferris wheel is something commonplace to him, a mere part of the scenery that he had always taken for granted. It is hard to understand why; the Hurricane is an incandescent firestorm of color in a drab, grey landscape.

Without stopping to think, you take his hands in yours impulsively and smile from ear to ear. “Yes! More than anything.”

Leon looks down at your hands clasping his, and you instantly back away from him, releasing his hands. “S-Sorry.”  


He raises a dark brow, but laughs. “When you’ve got that kind of passionate look in your eye, how can I refuse! Come along, before we have to sit next to a couple of snogging tourists.” He fakes a gag and gives you a brief wink to let you know he’s not entirely serious.

You laugh all the way to the entrance of the Ferris wheel.

The wooden sign that hangs above the LED-lit admission booth reads:

_Come visit the Galar Hurricane, elegantly rotating over the River Thames and less than a five minute stroll from Waterloo station along the beautiful Southbank. Step into one of our 32 capsules and feel the exhilaration as you rise up over the Thames!_

Once you’ve paid and the two of you are in a capsule, you press your hand to a window pane, taking in the expanse of the city as the street lights came on along the river. The window is cracked open to let a pleasant breeze in.

Up high, where you can see the entirety of Wyndon from the Ferris wheel, you feel almost as free as a bird. The view of the Thames river snaking through the mechanical city is breathtaking. Dreamy puffs of white steam rise into the air along with the capsule, undulating into ribbons. The people below become tiny durants as you are lifted higher and higher into the stratosphere.

“Good thing they have this window in place, eh? I wouldn’t put it past you to try and take a terrific leap out of it,” Leon laughs, taking a seat next to you. “You look so much like a little rookidee beating its wings against a cage.”

“Not at all!” you turn to him and grin. “I’m so, so happy to be here. Do you go on the Hurricane a lot? I can’t imagine living in Wyndon and not going!”

In that moment, there is something fake, almost alien about him— the distant stare, that perfectly groomed appearance— yet wild and passionate; the very picture of a painfully adult man trying to vent his innermost thoughts after being conditioned to hold them in for so long.  


And then you see it again, the narrow spire in the distance pointing skyward. _Rose Tower._

His eyes fixed on the tower, Leon says softly, “Being Champion… it has to  _supersede_ all of your other wants, hopes, dreams and desires. It’ll be what you’ll wake up doing, and go to bed doing, 365 days a year.”

As the older man continues to explain his duties to you, it seems like he’s sloughing off old skin and becoming more fully himself, casting aside his fictitious self in the process.  


“In order to be Champion, you have to have your brand and image concocted by a panel of Macro Cosmos PR specialists, you then have to maintain said image, all while battling and keeping your flawless win-loss record, and keeping your worldwide fans happy! I’ve worn myself out and I’m just talking about it.”

You say quietly, “I never knew it was so hard, being Champion.” He looks so _lost,_ and you want to lay a hand on his cheek, but resist the urge to do so. You joke instead: “So, receiving Raihan’s selfies isn’t part of the job description?”

He laughs. “I wish! That Raihan sends them to me because he thinks that THIS photo will be the one that girls will like. _‘They’re all the same photo, mate!’_ I tell him. ‘ _You’re doing that chav thing of sticking out your tongue in every one. And then he’ll say, no mate, show this one to Sonia, she’ll REALLY fancy this one—“_

“I’d never agree to doing all that if I was Champion,” you say, shaking your head to keep from giggling. 

A bitter laugh escapes Leon. “You say that like you think Rose gave me a choice.”

In the face of your unhappy expression, he tries to laugh more genuinely now, and play his words off. “Don’t misunderstand me! I’ve had a champion time all the same, despite the difficulties and hardships my team and I have faced. But I’ve... missed out on so much of my life because of how much responsibility the role demands. Everything from weddings, to holidays spent with my family, fade away in the face of what must be done.”

“Despite living in Wyndon, the last time I’ve been on this Ferris wheel has to have been when I was Hop’s age, maybe _a little younger_ than you are now.”  


You hesitate before asking. “Was that... a long time ago?”

”Hmm... I’d say that was almost seven years ago. So yes, that’s about a fourth of my lifetime— I’d say it’s been a while!”  


You do the math in your head. _Leon was almost 30?_ The realization makes you embarrassed again, but for what reason you couldn’t say. Shaking the thought off, you then say:

“...At least you’re here now, aren’t you?”

The young man peers at you keenly. “What’s that?”

You continue, “You’re here now, so why does the past matter?” You let the breeze from the open window rush past your face. “You’re here now, and you’re free to enjoy the present. No one can  _ever_ take that away from you.”

You continue, “I couldn’t ever be unhappy, being up here in the clouds. I feel so free! It’s almost painful how free I feel. But  that’s kind of stupid.”

“Not at all, that I think I can understand! But..” Leon’s looking at the sky. He murmurs:

“What could be more painful than knowing that this... is the closest that I can ever be to you?” His voice is touched with an odd tone, a sad and wistful one. You watch him, looking off into the horizon. 

”...you can’t get any closer,” you laugh lightly, nudging him with your shoulder. He’s come into a black mood, a wistful and depressed one, very uncharacteristic of Galar’s Champion. Even if you weren’t the person he was talking about, it wouldn’t hurt to joke, would it?

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile, but he doesn’t say anything more than that. The capsule ascends, accompanied only by more stiff, heavy silence. 

But the sight of the bright lights motivate you to speak about something that had been bothering you for a while. You ask the older man quietly: “Leon, before,  at the Pokémon Lab, were you...  telling the truth when you said that you didn’t know what Rose had told me?”  


”Yes...” 

”...and no.”

Huh? Yes _and_ no? You’re utterly baffled by his response. What kind of answer was that? How could you claim to know something and yet not know of it at the same time?   


Leon continues, “Rose made it extremely clear to me that I was to teach you how to Dynamax; the man was _insistent_ on it. I knew that if you were to refuse, he would pull some crazy stunt... I might have anticipated him withdrawing his sponsorship.”  


”If you knew, then why...”

_”...why did you come looking for me?”_

Before he answers your question, there is a strong gust of wind, and your surroundings sway, the seats on the capsule tremble and the little boats docked at the pier in the darkened river knock into each other. 

Positioning himself behind you, Leon’s arms come in between the crook of your arms, snake around your belly, and settle just under your breasts. You look up and into the glass.

His reflection in the window looking intently down into your face, Leon asks instead, “Why _can’t_ I get ahold of you, Gloria?“

Well, there was nothing wrong with him coming to seek you out, _per se,_ but he hadn’t phrased the question like that. 

“...My dream has always been to bring this world into a new, shining era. To bring that brilliant future into the present, to elevate the people of Galar to greater and greater heights— no matter what I have to sacrifice.”  


“But you’ve told me that the future doesn’t matter as much as the present? That my freedom means more than living captive to the man that people believe I am?”

“Why can’t I come looking for you? What _are_ you, you cheeky girl? Would you ever tell me? What _are_ you, and what is going on in that little mind of yours? And how could I ever know it?” 

His eyes bore down into yours, they are fixed there and still, as if looking down a well. “Why can’t I get ahold of you? What makes you so unreachable? Every time I think that I’ve got you _pinned down,_ somehow you manage to elude me,” Leon laughs, that feverish sort of longing in his voice. 

His thumbs trace slow circles in your skin and your chest feels high and tight and you can’t breathe.

“You’ve always kept me at a distance...  that’s a bit hurtful,  wouldn’t you say? Won’t you share a little bit of yourself with your Champion?”

_”Won’t you let me in?”_

Twisting in your seat to face Leon, you push out your arms in front of you to separate him from you.

“Don’t. Just... please don’t.”

But Leon’s not used to being rejected, that‘s for sure. His brow furrows like even  _he’s_ not sure what he should say next. His hands fall limply to his sides, drained of all purpose and intent. 

“I’m sorry if I caused you pain,” you say quietly, wrapping your hands around yourself. The breeze has become unforgivingly cold. “I was only trying to make you feel better.”

The older man then takes off his hat and frowns, roughly crumpling it in his other hand. “So. You fancy some other lad, then? I know you don’t fancy Rose, that much I can say for certain. What, has Raihan been sending you his brilliant photos?”  


The offhand remark was meant to be funny, but he sounded oddly…  _jealous._

You don’t know why on earth he would have any reason to be. Leon practically had the whole region, no, the WORLD kissing the ground he walked on. What was one girl amongst millions? 

You say as much to him, and he groans. “Gloria, you don’t understand, do you? Why should I care about who could, in theory, be out there, when I know what I want? Are you in love with someone else? Is this your way of letting me down easy? I’m a terrible sport, you should know—“

“No! No, I’m not. I’m not in love with anyone,” you say. “But I don’t think I can be.”  
  
The memory of you flippantly turning down advances from men seemed hollow now, reduced to a cruel, ironic joke. Now, here was a man who you’d have been happy to introduce to anyone, making an advance on you, and you had to face the truth that you hadn’t simply rejected the men because of _their_ unworthiness.

You had rejected them because you knew _you_ were.  


You admit quietly, “I’ve... never been in love with anyone ever.”

“But you  _could_ be,” Leon says softly, the steam from his breath warm as he leans into you, cradling your head with one hand. His voice is low and deep, and you feel every syllable run down your spine. “You very well could be if you wanted to be.” 

_...why shouldn’t it be with me?_

“What I’m saying is I don’t think you know what you’re saying,” you say instantly, feeling Leon’s arms around you once more, tightening in a willful refusal to let you go. “I hurt you before in Motostoke, and I ran away from Rose Tower. Besides, you’ve only known me for a few weeks—“

“Hah! You suppose to know me better than I do?”

You frown.  _Leon’s just one of those rash, reckless, hot blooded types who gets an idea in his head and refuses to reconsider it, isn’t he?_

He rubs his chin, and then says, “Say, how about this. I’ve just had a _brilliant_ idea! If you’re really in doubt of the passion of my convictions, I’ll  sponsor you for the Champion Cup.”

You look down and away from him. Shadows play on the floor and merge the two of you into one dark, shapeless mass. “...What about Victor?”

He’s in disbelief. “Hop’s friend? What about the lad?”

”If you sponsor me, what will happen to him? You can still get Victor back into the tournament, you’re the Champion!” you say, all of the words stumbling out of you with all of the urgency of someone late for the train. “If someone... someone else is going to suffer because of me... I don’t want you to do that.”

Judging from the absolutely  _aghast_ look on his face, Leon can’t believe what you’re saying. Neither can you, for that matter. What were you saying? Before, you had been very happy to terrorize that Team Yell grunt with Bede, and you’d even shaken off the concerns of your friends for Chairman Rose. 

Had Marnie’s words truly gotten to you?

Echoing your confusion, he barks out a laugh. “What all is going on here? Here I thought this would be what you wanted more than anything!”

_A world like that.... means more to me than anything._

You say quietly:

“...do you like being  the hero,  Leon?” 

“Pardon?”

You breathe in and out to steady your thoughts. ”On television, Rose is always talking about how  you’re _the shining hero that’s the beacon of everyone’s dreams_ in Galar. Every good hero has a princess that they save from the villain. I can’t be that. I...”

You look down at your feet and blink back hot and angry tears. “You shouldn’t want someone like me. I’m not... pure or good or kind or anything you’ve convinced yourself I am; I lie and cheat and steal! I’m not a good person—“

“Yet you won’t accept my sponsorship because you want to help someone else,” Leon retorts, incredulous and angry. “Blast, Gloria! You won’t let me sponsor you because you think that Victor deserves it more and  _for what?_ He’s a talented lad for sure, but you think by virtue of being my little brother’s neighbor, he deserves it? Is that why?”  


“Because I think you want something from me I can’t give you,” you fire back, equally upset. “I think you’ve just convinced yourself you want me because you can’t have me!”

This statement elicits an offended scoff from the older man. You couldn’t decide whether it was because your words were totally correct or completely off base. “Oh, but you’re willing to give yourself over to Rose,” he remarks bitterly.

“Chairman Rose is different! I don’t want to put on a show for you, Leon,” you say now.  _I like you too much to do something like that,_ you want to say. But if you said that to the man, who knew where he’d take it, and in what way? Or how far he’d go?

“I don’t want to pretend when I’m with you,” you say, and are surprised by how much you actually mean it. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“Suppose you’d be even happier if you’d accept my sponsorship, eh?”

“ _Leon.”_

“All right. _All right._ A lad’s got to know when to give up. Blast, Gloria. I only… only wanted to make you happy.” 

“But I  _am_ happy. Can you believe this is my first time on the Galar Hurricane?!” you laugh, exhilarated. You stand up in the capsule and walk to a window, pressing your hands to the clear glass. Your warm breath fogs up the glass so that your reflection becomes hazy. “And you all get to have this view all the time?”

Leon looks at you and your distorted reflection in the window. His hands fidget at his sides, like he’s itching to come up behind you and wrap his arms around you once more. But he knows that you’d reject him again if he did, and so he does not.

“All the time,” he says quietly.

“Thank you for taking me,” you say, squeezing his hand. “...taking me to see the sky.”

Leon grins. “Well, I’m even more grateful you wanted to see it.”

A robotic message is then broadcast over the capsule speakers, the voice tinny and cheerful:

_Attention, voyagers! We’ve reached the highest point on the Millenium Wheel’s orbit. Please feel free to take whatever photos you like while we take a moment to appreciate the splendid view of Wyndon Chairman Rose has provided for us._

Tapping you on the shoulder, an older photographer asks: “A picture in the eye of the Hurricane for the happy couple?”

You’re about to say,  _oh, we’re not a couple,_ but then Leon grins and puts an arm around your shoulder. “That’d be just the thing to round out our journey, wouldn’t it, old chap?”

The kindly man nods, but then pauses, taking in the sight of the suit clad Champion, and looking from you to Leon and then to Leon again. 

_He recognizes Leon._

He stammers, “C-Champion L—“

Leon puts a finger to his lips.  _Shh!_

“Good man, I’ll give you some fine Galar pounds not to mention it,” he then laughs, patting the man on the shoulder a little roughly. “Just two photos for me and the girl would be brilliant! You’d do that for your Champion, wouldn’t you?” The man’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down eagerly.

While the cameraman adjusts his lens, Leon whispers: “I’ll get this right in one go, yeah? It’d be a real champion feat.”

“Go ahead and try,” you whisper back. “I bet we’ll have to take at least three.”

Just before the cameraman presses the button on his camera, you impulsively grab his hand and squeeze. Astonished, the older man’s eyes widen and the flash goes off, causing him to blink in surprise.

“You cheeky girl, you  _tricked_ me,” Leon gasps, indignant yet pleased at the same time. 

“Sorry,” you laugh, not feeling sorry in the slightest.

The champion grins. “Once more then, with gusto!”

The two of you smile for the camera, and now he grabs your hand. But it’s no impulsive move like yours… The pad of his thumb smooths the skin on the back of your palm, slowly,  _intimately_. Your face is hot, flushed, and Leon wraps his arm around your waist, pulls you in so close that your exposed skin bristles against his velvet jacket.

_He knows where to stop, knows exactly where the line might be crossed, but he will always go to the brink with you, then pull back and and force you to confront what you’ve become._

_Say Champion Cup!_ the man says over his camera.

“Champion Cup!” the two of you chime, almost perfectly in sync, and the shutter goes off.

“A photograph for the young lady and one for the sir,” he says, handing you and Leon a photo each. 

_Wow. Raihan wasn’t kidding when he said Leon was photogenic._

Even though it wasn’t printed on  very high quality film, the photograph itself seemed to be come to life with the unabashed happiness of the two people present inside it. Their hands are linked inextricably. Your heart thuds in your chest, sneaking glances at Leon and looking from the photo and then to him and then to the photo again.

It had been a good photo. One that a person only had the good luck of taking every so many years.

Leon’s happy with the photo too, his eyebrows raise up and down and his eyes crinkle up at the edges in a genuine smile. As he pulls out his wallet and places a hefty amount of Galar pounds in the man’s hand, you ask the photographer:

“Excuse me... Can I have this photo in a smaller size?”

Closing his wallet, Leon now looks at you with keen, naked interest. “Whatever for, Gloria?” 

“...I wanted to put the photo in my necklace,” you mumble, your face becoming more and more flushed without you knowing why. “I have a locket, right here. It can fit a small photo in it.” You point to the silver chain and shield-locket around your neck.

“That’s a right pretty necklace,” the cameraman says brightly. “Family heirloom? That’ll last through a world war if you take care of it proper! Okay, give me a moment.”

While the man’s preparing a smaller photo for you, the Galar Hurricane begins its steady descent back to the ground. Your ears pop as the pressure equalizes.

“Hey, Champ! Don’t you know how to take a  bad picture? You‘re making everybody look bad!” a man’s voice laughs. The head of every person in the capsule turns your way. _Oh no._

Even if you hadn’t recognized Melony’s son from the induction ceremony at Wyndon Stadium, you’d be hard pressed to forget the young man. He’s a strapping young man with cutting taste in clothes and a haircut that seemed to stand up just by the sheer amount of hair gel in it alone. 

Gordie lifts up his sharp tactical sunglasses and looks Leon up and down, taking in the sight of the Champion in his scarlet red suit and cravat. “What’s with the different getup today?”

Leon smiles thinly. He hadn’t wanted to be recognized. “Cape’s being dry cleaned, mate.”

Whispers from the other people in the capsule then flood the room...

> _FANGIRL 1: ...is that the Champion? It is, isn’t it!? _
> 
> _TOURIST: Aaah! He’s so handsome in that new suit!_
> 
> _GENTLEMAN: ...But what’s he doing with Chairman Rose’s fiancée?_
> 
> _FANGIRL 2: That slutty tart! She probably seduced Leon, he doesn’t know any better...!_

You hastily break away from him. See the kind of trouble you’d get into with Leon? You desperately wanted to run and hide. That or jump into a black hole in the ground. 

“I need to go,” you say quickly, your eyes glancing to the exit. The wheel’s capsule had finally reached the ground level. You attempt to pull your hand away—

But Leon won’t have any of it. 

“ _Stay_ _,”_ the older man says firmly, his hand now grasping yours in a tight vice, his expression growing angrier and angrier at Circhester’s gym leader for ruining his cover. “They’re all mistaken. Rose will understand! I came to Magnolia’s Lab to fetch you, after all.”

“We’ll have a little chat later, Gordie,” Leon then says, but the Circhester Gym Leader has already made his way out of the capsule with some of the passengers. The rest now approach Leon, holding up their mobile phones to snap photographs of the Champion, and holding out notebooks for him to sign autographs.

Lost in the crowd of admirers, you stand there in the crowd, now separated from the Champion. 

Of course Leon hadn’t come here  just because he wanted to see you. He was Chairman Rose’s Champion, through and through.

But how could Rose understand… whatever this was?

Is?

* * *

  
Later that night, in Rose Tower—

“...you have a business meeting at 4:15, Chairman,” Oleana says, pulling up her red pencil skirt and adjusting her thong, which was no longer clean and dry. “The Rocket Corporation’s CEO wishes to discuss the sale of the satellites he had made to you three months ago.”

“Ah, right.” Rose sighs. He shifts in his bed and smokes a cigar. The room fills with a mixture of a chewy tobacco scent and sweaty musk. “That Giovanni is absolutely inescapable, isn’t he? He’ll want the cost of flying the technology from Mahogany to Wyndon included in the invoice, no doubt. I’ll have to draw from the company account...”

After fixing her clothes to a presentable state, Oleana taps through her Y-COMM. “Chairman... You’ve undoubtedly seen the articles of the Champion and that girl in Wyndon by now. What will we do to mitigate this?”

“What is there to mitigate?” he asks innocently. “Come back to bed, I haven’t finished you off to satisfy you fully... that’s why you’re still fraught with so many worries. I do hate to be a poor lover.”

The younger woman frowns. The prospect of another tryst with Rose is evidently not enough to assuage her, for she then presses her lips together and breathes out through her nose impatiently. _“Chairman.”_

Rose chuckles. “Oh… Oh, Oleana. I am more than content to allow Leon to have what he so desires. As long as he can bring prosperity to the Galar region, I don’t  _care_ what he does in his spare time. The man wants Gloria? Wonderful! He is quite welcome to take part in her! She IS a frighteningly beautiful girl. Beautiful things are meant to be cherished and adored. 

“In any case,” Rose says, tapping his cigar on the ashtray atop the dresser, “I’m not the envious sort of man.”

She finishes penciling in her eyebrows, which gives her next statement a more severe look. 

“But the Champion  _is,_ Chairman. He’s very unlike you in that way... That man will grow to covet her,” Oleana warns him, her voice a low rasp. “And when Champion Leon does, he will  _never_ be content to share her with you.”

Rose contemplates asking her if she had personal experience, and thinks better of it. He knew the answer without asking. “I don’t often make a habit of prodding at dragons, but Leon will have to become accustomed to it. ...it’d be a shame, a terrible shame, if that unedited footage of Lance’s battle were to be released to the public.”

“If you continue blackmailing him, he might act unpredictably,” the younger woman snaps, looking up from her foundation compact. “Your Champion has a temper. A  _terrible_ one, Chairman.”

“Duly noted, my dear assistant.” Rose smiles and buttons his linen shirt. “A bridge we shall have to cross when we get to it. Anyways, we can’t simply give up on him. Certainly, Leon has many faults, but barring the unlikely scenario that any of the current trainers will come to surpass him, he is the only one... cooperative enough to carry out Macro Cosmos’ goals to fruition.”

After gauging his assistant’s skeptical look, he continues, “You must understand, Oleana. Leon won’t jeopardize what we’ve worked for one single girl. Even if she’s the most singularly lovely girl in the entire universe! As it stands currently, he’s set to become one of the most famous trainers in recorded history! Who could resist that power? That legacy?”

“...you’re gambling on his  _ego,_ Chairman.”

“Indeed I am! I am a rather good judge of character.”

Oleana applies the finishing touch to her makeup, a flick of coal black mascara to her sparse eyelashes. “I  hope that your faith in his discretion is well placed. Or perhaps it’s just infatuation, a phase for the Champion, and he’ll throw her in the trash when he’s grown tired of her, like he has with the rest of his toys.”

“Give him a little credit, Oleana. Young love is so inspiring. You can say that he loves her.”

“He hardly knows her. What is it if not infatuation?”

Neither man nor woman makes an attempt to answer. They both know well the nature of darkness. Oleana sighs and slips on a pair of practical black pumps. The shape is attractively shaped, yet the heel is low enough to walk in.

“He desires her  because she is free spirited, strong willed, young, and beautiful. Many people desire those qualities in a partner. It’s not hard to see why he could become enamored with her.”

“But for now, these are only rumors. Leon will undoubtably put them to bed when he returns later tonight. Despite his... regretful slip-up during the Johto Champion’s battle, he’s the only one poised to bring Galar into a new era. To be a legendary trainer, surpassing even the living legends of Kanto...”

Rose comes to look out the window at the glittering metropolis of Wyndon.

“To be the first trainer capable of achieving  _that shining power... Eternamax!”_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes + Comments
> 
> 1\. The Galar Hurricane is based off of the London Eye, formerly the largest Ferris wheel in the modern world. Now it’s the largest Ferris wheel in all of the UK.
> 
> 2\. I know I’ll get questions about Leon’s age, so since SWSH says that Leon raised his little brother, he’s got to be a good bit _older_ than Hop. For the sake of the story, let’s say that he’s about a decade older(give or take a few years) than Hop/Gloria.


	12. Dark Sided!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flame rekindled by a spark of recollection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. Some notes: I’ve posted a new Chapter One to go along with the story— it provides context for other events that will happen later, so I highly recommend you check it out. 
> 
> Also, when reading kismet, please-please-please leave the creator’s style on! There’s some coding I did in CSS that I didn’t write exceptions for, so if you turn it off, the writing for those parts could look a little gnarly. I promise I didn’t put anything weird in the code! ^^

* * *

_It takes about an hour and a half_ before the Galar Champion has finished signing autographs and taking photos with the adoring masses in the capsule. But after he’s freed himself of the crowds, Leon meets the Wyndon gym leader outside of the Galar Hurricane.

They do daps as a brief form of greeting, then come to a space concealed from the crowd by a shroud of deciduous trees. The branches are strewn with twinkling fairy lights, a sign hanging overhead indicating the entrance to the Carroll Gardens.

“What’s up, man?” Raihan asks, giving him and his suit a curious once-over. “You on some business for Macro Cosmos?”

“Not now, thankfully! Rose has left the day’s errands up to Oleana and Bede,” Leon says.

Looking off into the crowd that only just begun to thin, he then says, pressing his lips together, “Say, can you give Gordie a good thrashing at your next battle with him... tell the lad to mind his own damn business?”

Raihan laughs. “You almost gotta feel sorry for him, Leon! Gordie can’t help himself. He’s a nosy kinda guy— Melony raised him that way. What’d he do to make your day go to pot?”

“Well, he ruined a perfectly fine date,” Leon sighs, adjusting his hat. 

The Wyndon gym leader grins, revealing two sharp rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Galar’s unstoppable champion was on a date? That’s funny, man. What kinda airhead did Rose set you up with this time? I liked that chick from Johto, but she was such a _crybaby!_ She wouldn’t stop crying when I beat her in that battle, ‘member?”

“Well! I don’t know if she thinks it was a date, exactly, but...” he shows his friend the photo of the two of you in the Galar Hurricane. “Brilliant photo, isn’t it?”

Unblinkingly, Raihan looks at the picture, then at Leon, and guffaws, slapping his thigh.

“Oh, man! You forced Gloria to go out on a date... with _you?_ I knew you weren’t the type to simply give up, but she must’ve sulked the entire time! She has this really mad face when you get her angry, you know. Actually, it’s kinda cute—“

Leon scowls. “Not helpful, Raihan. I‘ll have you know I didn’t have to twist her arm into going with me.” He then gets up to walk moving through the crowd and pushing their bodies out of the way like he’s wading through deep water. “Blast, where did that girl wander off to?”

Slightly alarmed that Leon is less than willing to indulge his jokes, Raihan looks around, his keen eyes quickly darting from person to person. “Yo... You lose Gloria, Leon? Or did she make her escape? Ran off to be with Chairman Rose, maybe?”

The Champion groans, more at his lack of foresight than anything else. “I was caught up in capsule 13... I’ve never seen a crowd that riled up on the Ferris wheel before.” His eyes glance to the food vendors, now serving typical tourist fare. “Is she not waiting at the Hurricane concession stand?”

Raihan shrugs. “Might as well check. Better than kicking rocks.”

However, it’s easier said than done for the two men to sift through the people at the concessions: being that it was now completely night, many more tourists have come to ride the Hurricane. Almost every other person on line and seated at the tables is wearing the same Leon t-shirt.

After apologizing to what seems to be the sixth person wearing an identical shirt to yours, Leon turns to his friend and groans:

“That girl! I take my eyes away from her for one moment— one moment, I swear to you, Raihan— and she’s off and vanished again!”

Taking a seat, the Champion then sighs, defeated. “Have you seen any sign of her?”

After briefly scanning the crowd of tourists and locals alike, the Wyndon gym leader whistles through his teeth. No sight of the girl with dusty sneakers and a makeshift Leon crop top. “Nope.”

Leon takes off his hat and swears, “Blast, what’s happened now?”

* * *

“Ugh...”

You wake up, disoriented and without any awareness of where you are. Worse yet, it’s completely dark. You can’t see a thing.

Weakly, you try to bring one of your hands to hold your head, and find that both of your wrists are cuffed together.

Now, this _should_ cause you to panic, but you can’t get any sense of where you are with this headache. Your head throbs with a dull pounding, like someone had shaken the contents inside and left your brain to ricochet off the walls. Your fingertips come trembling away from your forehead and you find that your fingertips are stained a bright red.

Blood.

If you weren’t panicked before, you definitely are now. Before you can work yourself into hysterics, however, you overhear three girls arguing amongst themselves. They’re wearing Leon merchandise... _must be fangirls of his._

One FANGIRL screeches to another, shaking her by the arm, “You heard that man— he said that we need to hand her over to Team Yell! Nothing bad is supposed to happen to her.... But just look at her! What are we going to say?”

Another girl responds, “Why do we need to give her to Team Yell? What about the other offer we got... that bloke is willing to pay double what Team Yell is!”

Their leader, a FANGIRL with perfectly styled hair and dark lashes so thick that you doubted she could see well through them, hushes them up by raising both hands. “How can you argue to keep her alive... when she’s holding our dear Leon hostage?! We should be rid of her and then he’ll be back to his normal, flawless self!”

You blink, unsure of whether you had heard her correctly. Hostage? Just what did she mean by that? You couldn’t hold Leon hostage even if you had half a mind to.

But looking at the three of their faces now, a vague sense of recollection swims in your brain...

And you remember.

After the two of you had been separated at the Galar Hurricane, Leon had texted you to wait for him at one of the concession stands, the one with obnoxiously bright signage advertising chips and currywurst.

Later than you had realized it, the sky edged into complete night before you heard of any word from the Galar Champion. While you were debating whether to buy a curry covered sausage, you hadn’t noticed two of the fan girls from the capsule had followed you.

A ragged cloth had come across your face then and gagged your mouth. It dripped with a distinctive sterile stench. 

Chloroform.

You had tried your best to fight off your attackers, but only struggled this way for a few moments until you were hit over the head with a blunt object. Darkness followed soon after.

Now knowing this, you close your eyes and pretend to be unconscious still. You listen quietly to the bickering of the girls over your condition, and then, over to whom they were supposed to deliver you. You fumble in the dark for your poke balls, and find that they’re missing.  _Shoot._

You need to come up with a plan, and fast. The knife that the leader is holding glints terribly in the darkness.

Self preservation dictated that you should go along with whatever these girls had planned. 

Oleana’s words: _Follow directions. Be an obedient girl. Do whatever they say._

But then Leader Girl hisses, lifting up your head with her manicured fingertips: “What does he see in you anyway? Leon’s perfect! In every way. Cunts like you should just go running back to the rathole where they belong—“

In response, you take a mouthful of your saliva and the blood that’s pooling in your mouth and spit it right in her face.

You always were bad at following instructions.

The young woman wipes the blood spatter off her cheek with one trembling hand and slaps you across the face. You laugh. She’s got nothing on Oleana.

“I thought she was out cold!” Another one of the girls stammers, coming close to you. Big mistake on her part. You bring your forehead down on hers, inflicting a vicious headbutt on the girl. She stumbles back and falls to the ground, stunned.

The two remaining girls back away from you. You stumble to your feet and the earth shakes. You’re not on stable ground; the floor beneath you trembles like the place you were in was continuing to move, even as you stand still.

Then you realize... you’re in a vehicle. _A truck, maybe?_

Confirming your suspicions, a person to the front of the vehicle shouts: “Keep that ruckus down in there, you dumb bints,” and your heart drops into your stomach in the same hollow way a coin falls into a beggar’s tin can.

One of the first things they teach you in self-defense is to _never, ever_ let yourself be taken to a second location. 

Even if they are armed, if someone is trying to move you to another location, you are better off fighting, as chances are the commotion will bring help (and really, nothing good is ever going to happen at the ‘second location’).

You knew you couldn’t let yourself be taken to _wherever_ these girls planned to take you.

The leader girl says, eyeing you warily while brandishing her knife, “I knew we should’ve just gotten rid of you while we had the chance! It’ll be tragic, but then the whole country will just mourn you as one of those trainers that have gone missing. Too bad, poor Gloria—“

You dive for her mid-sentence, and grapple with her, holding her by the shoulders. All you’re thinking is that you needed to get  _that knife._ You then grab her hands and twist her wrists behind her back. She screams in pain. You knock her against the wall of the truck and she falls to the floor. The last girl lies on the floor, having worked herself into a good and well panic, her mouth open, gaping in shock.

Collapsed due to fright? You did suppose you did look a little frightening, what with your bloodied face and severe expression... 

But now that your vision has cleared, you see a little door leading to the front of the truck. After taking the knife from the lead FANGIRL, you squeeze your body through the opening.

The windows of the truck let in shaded light. They must be tinted.

Then the driver of the truck, having heard you open the door, says, “Hey... What’s going on back there? You dumb bints—“ 

Panting, you lean against the passenger seat, the knife in your hand. “Turn the truck around.”

He stares at you before stammering:  _Oh shit. Ohhhh shit._ The gears are turning in his mind: his bewildered expression asking, _how’d you escape?_

Before he can react, you grab for the wheel, and gasp, “Turn it around!”

He wrestles with your grip on the steering wheel, moving the wheel clockwise and semi clockwise in a jerky fashion. This went on for several minutes until you turn to watch the window in front of you. Only a few feet away from the front of the truck was a giant building, and you were headed straight for it.

You let go of the wheel, but it’s too late. 

It plows into the building ahead, and you curl into a ball, covering your head as you make impact.

* * *

You aren’t sure how much time passes before you wake up.

Completely surprised that you hadn’t perished in the crash, you sit there in the front seat of the truck, heaving and panting against the deployed airbags. You wrest them off and away from your chest before you can suffocate to death.

After you’ve done the hard work of freeing yourself from the restraints (using a lock-picking technique with the knife the great Houdini would be proud of), you look around the front of the truck. Little beeps of electronic equipment and the guttural panicked whine of the truck’s stalled engine are the only sounds that punctuate the silence.

You push yourself off of the dashboard. Looking to your right, you see the driver’s head had hit the windshield. His forehead has a oblong indent and his neck is snapped back. Consequences of the head on collision. In front of you, just ahead of the truck, you see several canisters of gas, propped all around the building. You’re lucky you hadn’t gone with him to the next world over. 

But his eyes.  _His eyes._ They gaze at the driver’s mirror, lifelessly. They are completely opaque, dull and fish-white.

You doubt you’d be able to forget that sight for many days to come. If you escaped from this. 

A voice that you don’t completely recognize as yours hisses:  _Not if, when. Get moving, stupid girl._

The girls’ words churn in your brain as you dig through the wrecked truck for your string of pokeballs. Team Yell had arranged for you to be kidnapped? Why? For what purpose?

That voice, that dangerous, cynical voice you had tried your best to beat back, then hisses:  _What, did you actually think Marnie was on the same team as you?_

You beat that voice away with a shake of your head. You didn’t want to believe it. Could it be true that Marnie still resented you?

After you find your pokeballs near the driver's seat, clenched in his cold, dead hand, you then make up your mind thusly.

_No. We are not on the same team. We may not belong to opposing teams, but we are not on the same team._

But whose team were you on? You hardly knew yourself.

_Classic Gloria. Always the fence straddler. Could never really make up her mind about anything. You know you’ll have to decide sooner or later, won’t you? Who you’ll be able to trust?_

You don’t want to be deciding anything. What you wanted was to be back home, what you wanted more than anything in the whole wide world was to sleep. That would be all right, wouldn't it? Just sleep for eternity until Prince Charming shows up?

_If he exists, he won’t wake you up with true love’s kiss._

Fine. There will be no napping. Not in a place like this. You decide to go into the building, clutching the knife in one of your hands.

The knife belonging to that obsessed fangirl is gone, but the world is full of knives just waiting to be picked up. You knew that better than most.

After climbing out of the truck, you look at your Y-COMM. _No signal_ _._ The truck had crashed into the building, so for the time being, you’d be stuck inside.  You could cry. You’re probably in the middle of nowhere.

The building is much blacker inside than you had imagined it would be. Someone hadn’t paid for the power bill, so none of the lights are functioning. You haven’t gotten far along when you hear the cry of a dragon. That, and the sound of quick footsteps.

You clench the knife tighter in one hand, the other hand to your poke balls. “Who’s there?!”

A tall and proud figure emerges from the darkness, his cape trailing behind him. Lance’s eyes— still, midnight blue —widen. _Gloria?_

Now, Lance hadn’t been on the greatest terms with Chairman Rose, but you have to choke back a cry once you’ve recognized him. It is so good to see a familiar face.

His brow furrows. “Why are you here? This is one of Chairman Rose’s abandoned laboratories. Did he tell you about this place?” Lance asks. He then gives you a once over and sighs. “No, of course not. You’re in bad shape. Here, have some of my medicine.”

Out of his knapsack, he pulls a couple of Max Potions and sprays the antibiotic on your broken skin. It itches and burns, but you thank him after he’s used up the last of the medicine.

“Not a problem. How’d you get here?”

You try not to pick at the peeling skin on your shins. “I was kidnapped and... brought here. Where is this place?”

“You’re just outside of Hammerlocke. This is one of Chairman Rose’s abandoned laboratories; he owns it under the name  _Macro Cosmos LLC_ _._ Does that mean anything to you?”

You tell him it doesn’t really and he sighs. “I guessed as much. I don’t know why you’re here, but I came to investigate.”

You have a feeling you know what it is; you ask anyway for confirmation. “Investigate what?”

He looks at you as if contemplating whether to tell you his mission objective. He says quietly: “You’ve probably heard about it. The trainers going missing.”

A chill runs down your spine. First Marnie, and now Lance? 

_If it walks like a psyduck, quacks like a psyduck... it’s probably a psyduck._

You give him a carefully measured response, as if you’re weighing your options in both hands. “Do... you think Chairman Rose has something to do with it?”

He half shrugs. “Maybe. That’s what I’m here to find out.”

You wince at the pain in your head. “I...don’t know if I can help you.”

Funnily enough, the older man is not eager to fight you. “Understandable. You’re not in any condition to investigate anything.”

Lance gives you a carefully drawn out map of the lab interior. “If you follow this path for a while, you should be able to get out and to Hammerlocke. My path is along that way for a little while, so I’ll do my best to help you until then.”

You don’t want to be looking any sort of gift horse in the mouth, so you accept his offer for the time being. Once you’ve gotten a little farther along in the lab, however, you can’t hold yourself back.

“Lance?”

“What’s up.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’ll answer your question with a question. Why did you get engaged to Chairman Rose?”  


_A question for a question?_

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” you say.

“All right.”

”...I was just thinking that when I stumbled on you, you looked like  _a certain girl trainer _ I met on the peak of Mt. Silver. That’s the tallest mountain in Kanto and Johto.”  


“She was in pretty bad shape like you: she had broken both of her arms, and she had to kick her pokeballs to get them open.” Lance laughs; it must have been a sorry sight. “But she... she had some determination, that trainer. She kept on going, even though both of the arms were practically unusable. She wouldn’t let me help her train, either. Even when I had to save her...”

Something like this strikes a flint in your brain. “Did she... go missing?”

He nods sadly. “Yeah. She did. And even if she didn’t, I won’t leave a person in need. That’s just what a Champion is supposed to do. They defend the weak and innocent, and uphold ideals like truth and justice.”

You think you’d like to meet this trainer with determination as sparkling and indestructible as crystal. “I’m sure that she must think the world of you.”

“Huh. You think?”

You nod emphatically. “Yes. I definitely think so. When I was a kid...” 

“There was a big accident at Wyndon Bridge.”

Lance nods. “I heard about that. Apparently before Chairman Rose re-engineered a lot of the architecture in the capital, the city was falling apart.” 

You nod. “Right before the bridge collapsed...”

“A shining hero pulled me out of the wreckage, and his kindness made me feel like maybe he was somebody I could be someday.“

“He rescued me... _he_ _ saved me.”_

“And now Rose’s gone and done the same thing.”

You toy with the necklace around your throat. “It’s hard for me to abandon someone like that.” 

After walking the darkened corridors for a while and passing the time in this way, making small talk, the pair of you come to a halt.

“Shit,” The Johto Champion’s eyes scan the perimeter. Ahead of the two of you lies two paths, one shrouded in darkness, the other is illuminated dimly by flickering lights.

“Looks like the path up ahead is forked,” Lance sighs. “We should split up here. There should be a path leading to the command center– I’ll take that one. Take my Pokegear number so you can keep in contact. I’ll radio in periodically to let you know where to go.”

He turns to go in the direction of the illuminated path, and you reach for him.

“Wait, Lance. I don’t think I can call you right away,” you say instantly, grabbing his arm. “This Y-COMM isn’t mine. It was given to me by Chairman Rose...”  _And I don’t think he’ll be happy to know that I’ve been talking with you._

Lance’s mouth quirks up in a sardonic half-smile. “I guessed as much. It’s an unlisted number, so you won’t have Champion Lance appearing on Caller ID, don’t worry.”

He then goes on to say, “Cellular signal’s weak here, it only carries about 40 meters inside the building. Whatever was in this lab... Chairman Rose didn’t want getting out. I’m not leaving until I get some answers to what that something was.”

You nod. But still, the question remained... How  did you get to Hammerlocke? It’s not like a group of obsessed Leon fan girls would know where a top-secret facility of Chairman Rose’s would be.

“Do you have any idea how I got here?”

He takes a moment to consider the information you’ve given him. “My guess is,” Lance says finally, “The people that kidnapped you were supposed to have brought you into Team Yell’s custody. One of the girls in that truck very graciously told me so.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. So those fangirls didn’t all die. Huh. Guess some people had all the luck.

“But that didn’t happen, either because your kidnappers don’t like Team Yell, or they were offered more money to bring you here instead. My guess is the latter. As to why they brought you to this place, I don’t know and I couldn’t tell you.”

You gape at him. What were you supposed to do with that?

He gives off a little half-shrug, “Your guess is we good as mine. But... You have to decide, Gloria. I don’t envy you, but it’s a choice you’ll have to make before long.  If you’ve been brought here,  then you have to know that your life can’t keep going on the way it was.”

You steel yourself with a deep breath. “Okay. What choice is that...?”

_“Which path will you choose— the path of fine lies or hard truths?”_

At the conclusion of his sentence, you can’t help but shudder, and feel rather like a little bug caught in a spider’s web.

You didn’t know why it was  _fair_ that you had to choose between two paths that would ultimately change the course of your life as you knew it. You were some homeless delinquent who, until recently, made your living from thieving, skullduggery, and general mischief. Who were these people asking a barely able adult to decide anything?

Lance, perhaps sensing your reticence, then explains: “Look... I get it. Maybe you’ll choose to go along with Chairman Rose, and that’ll be the end of it. Hell, people in Galar  _want_ to be put to work, and what they need is an authority figure to coordinate things and tell them what to do. Chairman Rose and the World Champion give that to them.”

_People don’t want to be free, Gloria. They just THINK they want to be._

You ball up your fists, more out of a sense of understanding than any defiance on your part. “I understand.”  _You’re old enough to decide to get married; you’re old enough to decide what you want to do with your life._

“I’m glad you do. Now, I need to stick around to do more investigating. You need to head to a Pokémon center. I tried my best with the medicine, but your wounds will probably open back up. I’d like to have a Secretpotion right about now. They’re pretty handy.”

“You know which way to go?” he asks.

You nod, and say you do... but you don’t know if you do, not really. 

But after you’ve confirmed you can follow the map’s directions, the two of you split up.

It’s slow going, especially in the dark, but with Lance’s intermittent instructions, given over the Y-COMM, and his hand drawn map, you make your way through the abandoned lab. 

You can see light ahead. You call Lance, wanting so much to thank him—

Radio silence.

“Lance?” you say, your voice elevated. “Are you okay?”

Then a man’s voice, angry and guttural:

“Hey! What’s this bloke doing here?”

Then a terrific crash like there’s ascuffle in the room. Pained grunts and shouting. 

Lance grunts. “Gloria... run...!”

For some reason you can’t understand, you press the phone to your forehead, and pray, all the while your silver necklace bounding against your chest.

* * *

Following the Johto Champion’s  
directions, you bolt from the building as quickly as you can, almost sprinting into the abandoned lot. With every painful footstep, Lance asks you to consider his hard truths and fine lies.

The hard truth would be to consider what Marnie and Lance were saying; really saying, and take their words at face value. That would mean, however, that you had to reject any kind of kindnesses or favors on Chairman Rose’s part, and make your own way in the competition. That wouldn’t be hard, would it? You had made your own way in this world for more than a decade, and look at you!

After stopping outside the building to catch your breath, you turn over your wounded hands. Your right had been scored by two deep wounds, aftermath from your attempted escape from the truck.

_Bad example, Gloria. Very bad example._

And you hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Rose’s words had been so lovely to your ears—no one had really ever wanted you before.And there were so many fine things at Rose Tower, a soft bed to sleep in, fine food to eat, and friends. Actual friends.

Before, you had been turned away at every opportunity, and here was someone who actually wanted you! You didn’t know if Lance ever had to struggle with that—  _feeling_ and  _being_ unwanted by everyone. But maybe he had. You couldn’t know for sure.

As far as you could remember, this was the first time in your life someone had ever offered to give you a chance. Rose had been there for you. You had been accepted into his family unit. You had a purpose, a real purpose, besides worthless, orphaned drifter. 

_But what about the awful things he’s done?_

In the sand of the compound, a spinarak scuttles away from the dust and over your trainers. You remember Rose and his terrible hand, and jerk away from the creature like it was a hot poker. You think about smashing it underfoot before deciding against it, and watch the spinarak crawl into a darkened crack.

Still, you’d happily live through three more car wrecks like that before giving it all up. And maybe that was the hardest part for you to accept: you’d rather have the fine lie over the hard truth.

Even if the coiled barbed wire on top of the fences look like so many thorns.   


This compound, abandoned as it was, really hadn’t been abandoned, had it? Lance was gone now, and you were alone, again, and without anyone to help you.

Your current predicament is a far too painful reminder that a rescue is only a moment in time, not a state of being. Whatever that young man had saved you from seven years ago didn’t matter now— he had still been powerless to influence what came next.

As you’re contemplating what to do next, you feel a vibrating in your pocket. From inside your shorts, you pull out your Y-COMM and click at the notification at the screen.

[YOU HAVE 14 MISSED CALLS]

14 missed calls, all from a certain number, one you didn’t recognize. You notice then there is two bars of cellular signal. A shaky signal, but a signal nonetheless. You had run far enough away from the lab so that your Y-COMM could now start picking up satellite signals from the city.

Out of breath, you wipe the blood off your hands onto your shirt and try to type a message to the number, but it’s no good, the smear of red makes it hard to see the screen.

You attempt this cellular number. It goes directly to voicemail. The recorded message is very different than the one you’re expecting, however...  


> _ LEON: You’ve reached my private voice mailbox. I’m tied up with some MC business at the moment. I’ll see to your message when I’ve got the situation under control. _

-beep-

Instead of coming up with a message to send him, your mind fixates on this for a few moments, struck dumb by his message.  _MC business. MC, initials that are MC—_

Macro Cosmos. MC stands for Macro Cosmos. The dull migraine that had been brought on by the chloroform returns in full force.

With every wave of pain, this one thought comes to you, over and over, ceaselessly and without end—

Leon works for Rose. Leon works for Rose. Leon works for Rose.

_Chairman Rose tells him to jump and he shouts how high,_ that voice sneers and you don’t have the heart to beat it back. Not this time.

But you don’t have time to dwell on it. “Leon. Please. Please help me.” you whisper into the device, your teeth clattering in your skull. You desperately rub your hands together for warmth. Like it or not, Leon was your one good hope at getting out of this mess. “I’m here outside of Hammerlocke City. I don’t know how I got here...”

Out of the compound, you hear a stampede of approaching footsteps. Your stomach twists. 

“Please.” you choke out. “Leon... I’m sorry for treating you like a great big dumb git. Sure, your head is way too big for your body and you’ve got no sense of personal space and you’re a right posh chav who fancies himself the greatest thing to ever walk this planet—“

Silently: _And you work for Chairman Rose and you’re just another one of his pawns, but—_

“But please. Please come.”

Those words you hadn’t spoken since you were a young girl come to your lips. How you hated them now.

_“Please save me.”_

Only a few moments later, the shadows all converge on you.

“Get her!” a voice yells. Another screams:

“Rose will pay a handsome price if we can ransom her off!”

This is it. Your last stand.   


Now that you had a purpose, you find you can walk. You turn to face your assailants, knife in hand—

— and see the blades of a Knight Taxi hovering overhead.  Several Knight Taxis, in fact.

One masked man screeches, “WAIT! It’s the people from Rose Tower?!”

Macro Cosmos grunts surround the perimeter of the compound, the old brick city buildings of which you don’t recognize. Hammerlocke City.

Oleana shouts to the Pokémon League trainers: “That girl in front of you all is the Rose Princess! Protect her at all costs!”

Bede and Raihan jump out of a helicopter taxi. The young boy sighs and releases his Rapidash from its Ultra Ball, the horse’s mane a colorful pastel array of mystical fire. “We’re here, in any case...” 

Raihan grins, cocks his head from side to side, and cracks his knuckles. He throws out an ultra ball. “Hey, Duraludon, blast off a Draco Meteor! Let’s show these fools all who they’re messing with!”

“Shit, who said that all of them would come?!” a trainer stammers. Another man pulls at his companion. 

“Who cares? It doesn’t matter, we can take them all down—“

But then, a great gust of wings, one mighty enough to whip up a tornado, causes the group of trainers to cover their faces and desperately plant their feet into the ground to avoid being knocked back by the wind.

A dark shadow hovers overhead in the shape of a winged beast, casting your surrounds to be shaded in black. “Oh no...” one of the trainers mutters. 

You find yourself smiling.  _Oh yes._

A man chokes out:

“IT’S THE CHAMPION!”

Atop his Charizard, Leon grins. His eyes glitter with an unforgivingly brilliant light. “Hah! That’s right! Happy to see me?” Their faces said exactly the opposite. His grin grows wider, a dragon’s snarl that bares a row of scintillatingly white teeth. “Oh, but _I_ am! I’m looking forward to making you regret  ever having taken her!”

The fighting commences. Plumes of fire from his Charizard cause the canisters of gas to implode with a great hollow bang, and your surroundings erupt in flames. This great, terrible sight of the Champion and the people from Rose Tower, bathed in red and orange flame, is enough to scare off many of the remaining trainers.

From the haze of the weakness brought on by your injuries, you stumble, blood-soaked feet dragging behind you, and look up to watch the ongoing battle. The Champion’s figure wavers and shifts as he fights through the crowd. After dismounting his Charizard, Leon flies to you, gathering up the pieces of you as he pulls you to his chest.

“Leon,” you sob, your feet failing underneath you. “Leon—“

Your knees buckle then, but the older man pulls you up and raises you up off the ground as his arms fold into an embrace around you. 

“I’ve come too late, it seems… Blast! Forgive me. Can you stand?"

You nod mechanically.  _If you're with me. Please... if you're with me, I can do it._

Not even caring how much destruction he had brought in his wake, you let Leon stand there and hold you, the firelight playing over his face. The light that burns in his eyes is so bright it reduces the flaming wreckage to little candle-embers in the wind. 

_I’ll do whatever you want. As long as you’re with me._

Now, you can’t say these things, but you will them at him as somehow he could understand them.

He continues soothing you automatically, brushing his hand over your hair in a trance-like rhythm. “I should’ve realized it when you hadn’t come home...! I was a fool, forgive me! At least... at least you’re here by my side again.”

And all you’re doing is crying and repeating his name, nodding through the blur of your tear-filled eyes. Leon is a haze of white and violet and brown and gold. Brilliant gold. 

“...When I’ve got you beside me, nothing will EVER happen to you. I give you my word. I will never let anyone harm you ever again.” The older man says this while gazing into your eyes, the Blue Fairy to your Pinocchio— but without even a wave of a wand, Leon made his words real in that moment. That was just the kind of power he had.  


Whatever he said became reality.

Amidst the clouds of black smoke, however, Chairman Rose stands there, his lips pursed, as he takes in the sight of Leon taking you in his arms.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes + Comments
> 
> 1\. The Carroll Gardens: a lovely public park in England not too far away from the London Eye. 
> 
> 2\. _The girl with the broken arms_ is a reference to Kris’s backstory in PokéSpecial. I also highly recommend you check that out— the manga isn’t canon with the games, but it’s very well written and it explores a lot more mature themes in the Pokémon universe.


	13. Appendix 1: Writings From a Macro Cosmos Employee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house always wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the two part update. Please turn the creator’s style on!
> 
> Also, your continued feedback is what keeps the engines of this train running! If there’s some part of the story you’re curious about, or maybe that you just can’t stand, please let me know in the comments below!

* * *

After fighting off the trainers inside the abandoned laboratory, Champion Lance boots up an old computer left behind in the control room. He is sitting in one of the cracked plastic laboratory chairs, looking at the monitor in front of him. At first, he thinks the screen’s gone dead (he’d only seen black on the monitor for the past 15 minutes) but then a JavaScript text box comes up on the screen, only asking for a—

_PASS CODE._

Lance grins despite himself. Funny little bit of deja vu, wasn’t it? He only needed to close his eyes and he would be there in the Rocket Tower hideout, shouting the passcode HAIL GIOVANNI! to the voice activated electronic doors, Kris by his side. At the thought of that missing trainer, however, his line of thought snaps in half like a dried out twig. 

_Focus. You’re in Hammerlocke City, not Mahogany Town._ Thinking quickly, Lance hastily types in a code: Macro Cosmos. The computer responds initially with nothing, then a blinking screen flashes on the monitor in a hard blue light. 

ACCESS DENIED. YOU HAVE TWO VALID SIGN-IN ATTEMPTS LEFT.

_Shit._ He bangs his fist on the table and regrets it. One of the blisters on his left hand pops and leaks a clear fluid onto the desk. He cradles his painful hand to his chest and his mind goes into overdrive.

_Don’t you screw this up. Chairman Rose and the Champion are here now. It’ll only be a matter of time before they come to clean up their mess.  
_

A trainer on the floor of the control room gasps, and Lance winces. Another problem. It’d been a good few years since he’d blasted that Rocket grunt to kingdom come in Johto, and he hadn’t the heart this time to command his Pokémon to fire off a Hyper Beam on any of the trainers. He reasoned that it was because he hated buying new capes at the Celadon Department Store.

It really was because he was getting soft in his old age.

Lance pulls the man to inches before his face and speaks. “Great. You’re awake. You can answer some questions. Who hired you?”

The grunt’s mouth may as well be filled with silver coins for all good it was doing him. He flaps his gums helplessly like a magikarp. “Ma...ma...”

He shakes him again, more roughly this time. “I don’t really care about the mothers of scum like you. Listen up. Who hired you? I’m not going to say it again.”

He only moves his mouth helplessly for a few moments more, and then passes out. 

The Johto Champion sighs. Good help he was. Lance gets the man's wallet out of his hip pocket and looks at it. There is fourteen pounds in cash money. An ID card identified him as working for the Pokémon League in Galar, with the special designation of MC-E below his name. 

MC undoubtably stands for Macro Cosmos. This sets the gears of his mind in motion. 

The trainers that had attacked him here worked for Rose? It made sense why they would attack an intruder, but why had they kidnapped you? He tries to get the reason straight in his mind, but it’s like trying to swallow a doorknob, pointless and likely to drive you insane doing it. But then, once he’s given up trying to untangle Rose’s motivations in his head, another, more chilling thought occurs to him—

_Unless the whole thing is a ruse. All made up. Smoke and mirrors._

In other words, a classic act of misdirection. Lance grits his teeth. Maybe it was worth reconsidering that ‘no hyper beaming the villains’ oath after all.

_Damn you, Rose. You’re even willing to traumatize a young woman to drive her further into your arms?_

_If you’re willing to hire people to kidnap your fiancée, there’s no telling what else you’ll do, is there?_

Lance turns over the laminated identification card in the palm of his hand. _MC-E._ He’s briefly reminded of one of the grunts speaking at the broadcast of your battle at Motostoke Stadium. _E-MAX.. E-MAX, what?_

He hunts through the desk for something, anything he can use, yanking open file cabinets and pulling shelves loose in the control room. All he can find is a scrap of paper with the heading: ETERNAM. 

And then a light bulb goes off in his brain. He hastily types into the computer now: ETERNAMAX

Lance holds his breath for one infernal moment. Had his intuitions led him in the wrong direction? The silence is so loud it is deafening.

WELCOME BACK, the screen reads. Lance could almost faint out of his sheer sense of relief. That, or vomit. He’d been eating too many RageCandyBars recently; that was probably the reason why.

He straightens out his back. _Now, Rose, let’s see what you’ve been hiding._

Interestingly enough; the home page is blank; there’s not much of interest on the computer other than a folder with a couple of photos on it and a word processor file. 

He brings the mouse over to hover on the file, it’s named: (01ET-BETA). After an initial bit of hesitation, Lance double-clicks on the processor file. The heading of the report reads:

The Eternamax BETA Project.

Curiosity piqued, he goes on to read.

_The nation of Galar differs from other nations in that the country depends on a large amount of energy to keep the country functioning on a day to day basis. This is evident in the capital city of Wyndon, which due to the large amount of steam power that the electricity requires, often undergoes periodic blackouts._

_However, with the country’s currently projected monthly level of energy usage, it is estimated that the current fuel sources will be insufficient to power the country into the new year. As soon as the end of January, stadiums will have to close their doors to the public and households will not have enough energy to power their houses come the frigid winter._

_This will lead to a widespread chaos throughout the nation; one that must be avoided at all costs. The ensuing pandemonium may cause the people of Galar to lose faith in the Galar League and its institutions, bringing riots and civil unrest along with it._

And there it is, an opening in plain sight. A large crowd dominated by a handful of persuasive speakers (Rose and Leon immediately coming to mind) often enthusiastically and unconditionally embraces ideas, but a large AND hungry crowd might not be as eager to indulge them. He soon finds he isn’t the only one to have come to this conclusion.

_For example, the city of Spikemuth has already endured a large part of the fallout from this energy crisis. We have attempted to assist the city in exchange for their cooperation with Macro Cosmos’ initiatives. However, the gym leader has refused to move the gym to a Power Spot, and has continued to refuse to place an artificial one in his hometown. In response, we have had no choice but to pull all funding from Spikemuth City._

This causes Lance to stop reading momentarily. He’d heard of the Galar League knocking out trainers from the Champion Cup who weren’t "advertiser friendly," which included those who went on about hot-button issues and controversial opinions, but he hadn’t expected Rose to go to such extremes to silence a political opponent. Without any money or publicity, Spikemuth City would die a slow death by starvation.

It would be a cruel way to go out. And a _damn_ good precedent to set for any other Galar gym leaders who thought about stepping out of line.

_Lucky for you, I’m not from your country, Chairman Rose. And you’ll just have to deal with it._

_In response to the Galar League’s perceived abandonment of his hometown, Leader Piers has gone so far as to sponsor his own sister, Marnie, for the Champion Cup. She has attempted to bring public awareness to the town’s plight with her little protests and public marches, even attempting to win Challenger Gloria over to their cause._

A picture of Marnie, holding a picket and sign. _Join us and be free as wolves! Take our revolution!_

A feeling of pain now like a hand reaching inside the older man’s chest and giving his heart a squeeze. That sense of idealism... he liked to see that it was alive, even in such a foreign place to him as Galar. But next to the photo of Marnie, a statement is boldly printed:

_THIS IS_ _**UNACCEPTABLE.** _

The word ‘UNACCEPTABLE’ is bolded and underlined several times. Concerned, Lance’s dark red brows draw together, but his eyes continue to scan the document, line by line.

_Fortunately, even without Piers’ cooperation, the power generated from the Wishing Stars is greater than even Professor Magnolia’s research predicted, surpassing even energy obtained via nuclear fission reactions. Still, it is insufficient to solve the current crisis._

_Thanks in large part to the research that the Pokémon Professor and her granddaughter have collected, we have discovered a possible remedy to our plight. If the legendary dragon Pokemon, Eternatus, is resurrected, the amount of energy released at that very moment in time can power Galar for the next millennia._

_However, Eternatus cannot take a stable physical form on this planet, and the consequences of bringing the dragon to life will be dire should it remain in its unstable form._

_Galar legends say that trainers who have the strength of will and the sheer power available will be able to harness the power of the Legendary Pokemon. Our organization has discovered that the legendary heroes used a power similar to Dynamax to control the Pokémon, but two stages above the base mechanic._

_We have deemed this stage ‘Eternamax’. We have calculated that it is necessary for a single individual to have the power of 10000 Dynamax-level trainers for a trainer to come close to shifting into the Eternamax stage and controlling Eternatus. We have done our best to procure many trainers who would suit this purpose, but all of our efforts have proven unsuccessful. It is not enough for a trainer to be able to Dynamax._

_So far, the only trainer in Galar shown capable enough of harnessing this power... is the current World Champion, Leon._

_However, after running several tests, we have discovered he is not able to maintain the Eternamax stage without the power completely and totally overwhelming him, sending him and his Pokémon’s energy levels out of control at only 37% of the power necessary to sustain Eternamax. At the highest level of Dynamax Leon sustained, a total of 46%, his consciousness shifted into something—_

This part of the document is entirely redacted. Despite the pain, Lance balls up his injured hand into a tight fist. Damn Macro Cosmos and their superhuman sense of foresight. If Rose hadn’t been playing for the wrong team…

He shakes it off. How many times has he made such a statement? Giovanni, Cyrus, Ghetsis, Lysandre… all brilliant minds, all warped by either their hunger for power or their twisted ideals. He needed to make sure at the very least _you_ weren’t. And then the next paragraph dashes his hopes to broken pieces of glass on the cold ground.

_Fortunately, the trainer Gloria’s level of energy output during the battle at Motostoke Stadium eclipses that of any normal trainer. We have taken her in for closer study. It is possible that we will need only 200 Gloria-level trainers for our current experiments— if we could somehow endow normal trainers with her power—_

A picture of a young woman is printed in the report. It’s Gloria’s face. _Your face._ But it’s different somehow... your face is fuller, your color better, and all in all you look... happier. Less hollowed out. 

  
_— until we can figure out a way to do that, we will keep her in our sights. The young woman has already attempted to escape on one such occasion, but we have various methods of convincing her to stay. We have given her a young boy as her charge, and that seems to have worked in our favor so far. But if she will not stay in Rose Tower of her own volition, then we will keep her here by force, if necessary._

Dread suddenly roosts in his heart like a vulture returning to its old nest. In the report, there are more pictures of you. These have a decidedly… _less_ objective slant. Bordering on the voyeuristic. He briefly wonders who’d taken these pictures. 

_A good figure,_ some less scrupulous men might say at the picture of you, raising your fist into the air after your win at Turffield Stadium. _Top of the shelf stuff,_ another sailor at the Olivine Café would laugh, drawing close to leer at the closeup of your flushed face.

But Lance only sees a happy girl in the photo and his heart is aching again.

After he finishes reading the report and gleans what information he can from it, he wills the photos of you away from his mind. He didn’t really want to look at any more pictures. 

As Lance gathers up his belongings, however, a troubling thought occurs to him.

_This report detailed events that had just occurred recently as two days ago. I suppose Chairman Rose could have had his scientists store their findings on an online server, but..._

_No, that’s not right. There’s enough here to bury a man. Not Rose, but maybe_ _someone else._ _He wouldn’t go to the risk of keeping information like this around for anyone to find, much less keeping it online where the risk of being hacked is a definite possibility. Which raises the question—_

Just how much in the past is this all? And how willing is Rose to keep it that way? 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes + Comments
> 
> 1\. This is likely to be the last we’ll see of Lance for a few chapters, as an FYI.


	14. HOW YOU LIKE THAT?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing we shared, it started to rot with the words _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves; I’m being brutal. 
> 
> (Part two of the two part update. Happy Fourth!)

* * *

“Announcing the winner by unanimous decision and reigning _undefeated_ world champion...”

A combination of multicolored confetti and roses are thrown into the air at the announcer’s proclamation. The flowers’ white petals are tinged with bloody red veins. They fall all around the two men in the center of Wyndon Stadium.

The announcer grabs the victor’s hand and lifts it high into the air. “The Reigning Monarch and YOUR Champion, Galar... Leon!”

The crowd goes wild, a wave of cheers spreading all throughout the stadium. It must have been a grand event in person to witness, but the television in the motel room is several years past its prime. The broadcast tinged with static at the edges of the screen casts a fluorescent light on the two figures in the room.

The announcer’s speech shifts into a high-pitched, indistinct tone as he rattles off the sponsors who had paid for the television broadcast. His voice rather reminded you of the people who voiced advertisements for prescription medication, phony and quick to ramble past any nasty side effects. But Leon is grinning, bowing to the crowd and pointing his finger to the blue sky in a flawless rendition of his signature move....

“Turn that off,” a man moans, rolling over in the room’s only bed. “Heard it before and Eric’s voice is ought to give me a sodding migraine. Mate bloody enjoys annoying me at this point.” The older man imitates Eric’s voice, giving it a whiny inflection as he repeats the announcer’s voice, _and your Champion, Galar..._

“But I’ve never seen this battle of yours,” you say, brushing your teeth over the tiny motel sink. You gargle once, spit. Pink sputum circles the drain and finally sinks down into the drainpipe. You check your mouth for any sign of bleeding in the motel mirror. 

Your reflection is distorted in the foggy glass, but you can still see the bite marks and bruises that ran all along your collarbone and dipped into your sternum. A bloody necklace of untold want. Hidden white sin.

“Well! Now you have. Not very impressive, right? Come back to bed," he says to your smooth back, having gotten up, his arms encircling your chest now. He plucks the mint green toothbrush from your hand and drops it in a beige plastic cup next to the faucet. His forearms then snake around your belly and rest near your breasts. 

He whispers in your ear, “Come back to bed and do me and then I'll do you. Just the way you like, love.”

You let him lead you slowly to the small bed and he turns off the television. It is hard to refuse him, hard to disappoint him. It’s harder still as his eyes stare down at you wordlessly in the dark. Watching you, hungry.

You lie down on the cheap mattress and your silk nightgown is cold water against your bare skin. The sound of a zipper being undone. Then his hands pulling down your underwear to your ankles.

There’s a familiar weight on you now. Overbearing, but not unmanageable. You inhale and control your breathing, timing your breaths as to calm your thoughts. Trying not to panic.

“Accepting that there is something darker, wilder inside of you, is hard for you, isn’t it?”

His hand, stroking your face now. The feel of it is familiar, even the smell of it is familiar, and you had always loved it. It travels from your cheek to your hair and grasps it by the root. You fight the urge to cry out. 

_(don’t struggle and this will all be over before you know it)_

“I understand you, completely and entirely. I wanted so badly to be the perfect brother. _The perfect hero._ I tried to force my desires to fit that ideal, but I just couldn’t.”

“They would just find ways of coming out of me.”

“The more I pushed them away, the more insistent my needs became. You understand me, yeah?”

At the same moment as Leon says this, a burst of pain as sharp as an icepick drives into your brain and you close your eyes. _Think of Wyndon, think of Lumiose. It won’t hurt for too long. He said so. He said so._

How you wish you could believe it to be true.

“Open your eyes, all right? I don’t want you to think unkindly of me. I’d utterly hate that, Gloria. I’d be gutted if you thought unkindly of me.” His hands find yours and hold them against the mattress. You almost want to tear them away and run... but what good would that do you? He would only chase after you, catch you...rape you.

You begin to hear a low, rhythmic thudding that seemed to come up from underneath you. Waves of pain crest and fall down to still water.

“So, don’t you fret. It might hurt—AGH! You know! It really is _the best,_ grinding against your tight cunt.”

“It might hurt at first, but give it time, you’ll come to long for it, just as I do.”

Dazed, you blink unseeingly as your pupils contract and adjust to your surroundings. A cocktail of guilt, pleasure and exhaustion has blurred the backdrop of the motel room into one hideous mess of color. Where are you now?

Did it even matter?

Did it ever?

Hot tears run from your eyes and roll down your cheeks. It really hurts. Trying to find some sort of release, you move your hips and roll into his body. His thrusts get faster and rougher, and you squeeze his hands to find some sort of relief.

“I’m being too rough with you? Is that it?” He starts licking and biting your ear, running his tongue along the shell of the cartilage and sucking on your earlobe. The feeling is achingly familiar, but it’s not possible he was the one in your room that night. He _couldn’t_ have been the one...

...right?

“I’m sorry. I like it a little rough, you understand. And I give you my word; I won’t hurt you. But you have to let me take care of you, all right?”

( _I will I will just make the pain stop make it all go away please take it away far away from here—)_

A little mewling whimper escapes from you. He’s kissing you on the lips and it feels like you’re being sucked into warm mud it aches it feels so good. Your body goes slack and conforms to an accommodating shape underneath his.

“That’s it! I knew you had it in you,” Leon smiles, revealing even teeth. Large draconic teeth, very well cared for, and white. He brushed with Aquafresh toothpaste every day, and he did it three times a day if he could help it. 

But it never had occurred to you before that just the sight of those white teeth could make you shudder. 

He’s kissing you hard enough now to leave marks on your skin. And maybe he likes it that way. You begin to beg him to finish you, to just come inside you and end it. 

And after a few minutes of this, your two bodies rolling and bumping and writhing against each other, he does. You do too.

His cock slick with conquest, and the man now satisfied with himself, Leon pulls you in and nuzzles his face into the nape of your neck. He whispers:

_“Why are you so good to me?”_

You turn him over to straddle him again and he moans. The harsh glare from his sun-bright eyes have dimmed to a soft glow, dulled by the lust that now lurks inside him and between the two of you.

 _You should fall in love and do everything in its proper order,_ or they say, but it feels better this way. And because that’s the case, you might as well be corrupted and let this poisonous love consume you whole.

After a few moments of just this, swapping wet and sticky kisses from man to girl and you rocking against his hips, he grabs your wrists and presses you face down into the mattress. His seed spills out of your cunt and trickles down your thigh in a thin white stream.

“Let me make you mine,” Leon whispers, his breath heavy in your ear. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’ll let me have that, at the very least? Hmm?”

You _don’t remember_ nodding, but a few moments later, he’s on top of you again, pumping you full. With every gyration of his hips, you free the rest of your inhibitions from your mind with a sigh.

Something that feels as good as this...

...there’s nothing like it, right?

* * *

Leon’s careful this time to leave you less bruised. It’s just as well, you wouldn’t have felt comfortable going into the Wyndon city square with the amount of bruises on your skin he usually liked to leave after sex.

But you hurt all over. Your face, your chest, and most of all, down below, where you feel torn open. 

Given this pain, you couldn’t help but wonder if people would look at you and know what had happened. Just _know it._

You could only imagine their whispers and voyeuristic stares. _Look at her. Someone really went and did her good, didn’t he?_

Your hands ball into tight, angry fists. You’d do them one better if they didn’t stop staring at you.

When Leon comes out into the sunshine from the motel room he is smiling excitedly, his eyes dancing. Whatever had happened yesterday night apparently didn’t bother him. He comes up behind you and takes hold of your waist with both hands. He swings you around.

“Ah! Don’t scare me like that!” you laugh, the wind nearly knocked out of you by his sudden impulsive move. You don’t mention how his playing rough with you was painful still; the feelinghad receded into the back of your mind. Pain like that only lurked in the darkness of Motel Ones and in a man who swore he cared about you _very, very much._

Leon laughs as if your shock is personally very funny to him. “Oh, you like it when I take you by surprise; you said so yourself!”

But he has enough sense to see that he’s being a little too rough with you; he always did once he’d calmed down. Once Leon sets you down— your heart still jackhammering in your chest— he asks you, “What would you like to do today? It’s on me. Nothing on the docket and we’re as free as those little rookidee you love to admire.”

“You’ll pay for everything? I thought Hop had your debit,” you laugh teasingly, skipping a few paces ahead of him. You turn around to face him and his white vinyl sweat suit glints in the afternoon summer sun, the entire city of Wyndon his backdrop.

“Hah! That’s only one of my credit cards,” Leon laughs. “I have a few more, courtesy of Oleana and some of the fine men at the Pokémon League, but I wanted to make sure he’d never run out of money on his journey if he could help it. A lad’s _got_ to have some spare change knocking around in his pockets.”

You hardly thought that a card with a credit limit higher than you’d ever make in a lifetime qualified as ‘spare change’— Leon had been the original recipient, after all. Still, it was a kind gesture, and you let him know so.

“You’re a good big brother,” you say, taking his large hand and giving it a squeeze.

He grins primly. “But of course! Who would I be if I didn’t look after my own brother?”

You lean in and smile. “Other than the most unstoppable, indomitable Pokémon trainer in history?”

Without even a momentary pause, Leon kisses you then. Just because he can.

“...It probably goes without saying, but I love you. I love you. You know that! Right?”

Leon says those three words so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he were telling someone, _lovely weather, ain’t it mate!_ Which leads you to wonder how many people he’s said these exact words to...

You shake your head soon after. Thinking on things like that wouldn’t help anything at all. Even if Leon were to give you a completely honest answer, you doubted it’d make you feel any better.

“I know,” you say, briefly pressing your forehead to his, and then nothing more after that. Leon doesn’t expect you to say the words back to him.

He likes to be kept waiting.

He takes your hand. “Right! Before we head off into the city, I need to get something to sink my teeth into. I always work up an appetite after the day’s gotten off to a late start.”

You know that. Better than you had any right to. Good sex always makes him hungry.

After he’d gotten a few bites of warm food in him, the two of you wander through the city square, you pointing out various trinkets in the fronts of stores, trying on beautiful dresses and him, so many different types of hats ( _you have twenty of them already, Leon, put that one down!_ ).

It is unbelievable how happy you could be in a single afternoon. Even if a part of you knew things couldn’t keep on going this way. The shoe always had to drop. Curtain always had to be called.

You suppose that intuition belonged to the deepest part of yourself. _The survivor._

A glittering jewelry set, complete with earrings, necklace and tiara then catch your attention in the front display of a Wyndon storefront. Transfixed by their unearthly beauty, you stop to admire them. Twinkling diamonds are fixed in a mesh of finely wrought gold worked into the shape of thorns. Just below their velvet box is a sticker with a price to match.

“But I could be a better _boyfriend_ if you’d let me,” Leon muses, coming up close to you so that his mane of hair falls over your shoulders. His eyes follow your line of sight to the glass display. “Anything you could possibly want, name it and it’s yours.”

You hesitate, looking back to the jewelry and then to your hands. Leon’s eyes follow.

“I’ll buy the whole set, just say the word! Your wrist is bare enough, wouldn’t you say...?” he says quietly, his thumb and middle finger pinched together in a circle around your left wrist. _It’d look better with a chain around it,_ is what he meant to say.

“It’s okay. I was just looking,” you say, turning to face him and breaking the hold he had on you. “Some things, it’s okay to just admire. Does that make sense?”

“Not in the slightest! I can’t imagine a man who’d go his entire life, _not pursuing what he truly wanted.._. It sounds like bloody torture! Why not go after what you want? Why deny yourself?”

A brief vision of a shining silver ring comes to your mind without knowing why. It prompts you to ask:

“But what if the person had someone else? What if the person was already engaged, or had a person important to them?”

Leon drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a sideways hug, then keeps it there as you walk. You do your best to ignore the stares of others as the two of you go past the store. “Well! That can _always_ be worked around. You’ll find that your champion can be very convincing when he wants to be.”

“You’re the worst,” you laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“I am not, thank you for saying so!” he says, also laughing.

You walk ahead of him. “No, you are! People who try to buy a young woman’s loyalty... they’re the absolute worst!”

You grin, and run on the crosswalk to the street on the next block, fully expecting Leon to come and chase you. He likes doing that and you enjoy teasing him. If he came and caught you now, you’d let him do whatever he wanted.

But once you’ve gotten across the street and turn back to look at him, an implacable, unknowable expression comes across his face. His hair is so dark against the afternoon sun, bounding across his back in waves of raven hair that fight any attempt to tame or contain them.

He doesn’t run across the street to catch you, instead striding purposefully across the white paint on the crosswalk. You grin and skip a little farther away from him. But when he’s gotten a few paces away from you, Leon calls out:

“...you know better than to go so far that I can’t reach you, don’t you?”

He sounds hurt. Betrayed, even. And the worst part is that you don’t even know _why._

It doesn’t stop you from feeling incredibly badly, though, and your steps come to a slow stop. Leon beckons you to him with a wave of his hand and two words.

“Come here.”

You return to his side almost instantly. That is the kind of power he had over you.

“You really want it, right?” he whispers, pulling you to him, one hand on your chin, the other encircled around your waist. You have no urge to resist. Even if you had any mind to escape, Leon holds you so tightly that any attempt to do so would be futile. “Don’t lie to me. You know I _utterly hate_ _it_ when you lie to me. You like being taken care of properly, don’t you?”

One hand wanders to your shirt and cups your breast. You’re in a daze; at the audacity of his actions or the sheer intimacy of it, you couldn’t say.

“Yes,” you say, your voice reduced to a waver.

“Then let me take care of you,” he says lowly and Leon’s not talking about a bracelet.

You almost cry out _no_ , but that would be exactly the wrong thing to do. “I won’t leave again. I’m sorry,” you say, guiding his hands down to a more socially acceptable place down by your belly. “I’ll let you buy me the bracelet. But just that, okay?”

He raises a hand momentarily, and you laugh, “You do anything more and I’ll punch you in the eye.”

Leon opens his mouth to argue, and then, seeing your obstinate expression, closes it. To your relief, he laughs too. “Well! The world for you, if you asked.”

The time the two of you spend inside the jewelry store is shorter than anticipated. Apparently both Rose and Leon are repeat customers, and the staff knows to be discreet. They were dressed so nicely in matching white button downs and black slacks.

A sales associate brings out the bracelet in a navy velvet box.

The bracelet feels luxurious, and the comforting feeling of the cool metal against your skin is easy to love. It sits nicely on your wrist, and everything about the bracelet— the depth of fire in the stones, the weight and shine of the gold— is flawless.

Once you’re outside, you hold your wrist up to the setting sun. The bracelet glints and shines, causing you to blink momentarily. 

You take his hands. Dappled patterns of light come down in spots. “It’s beautiful! Thank you so much.”

Your back to him, you say, “I can’t give you anything in return, but I really love it.”

He grabs your hand, whirls you around to face him. The steam from his breath is hot as Leon leans into you, holding your head by the root of your hair. He kisses you and his lips are rough and insistent against yours.

 _Oh, but I think you can,_ he says in between kisses.

You should say, _No, please don’t. No more._

“Okay,” you whisper.

You don’t.

* * *

You wake up then, and for a moment, you could swear it was still daytime in Wyndon and still bright. The fire caused by the dragon burns hot— the flames all around the city are so close; the heat stifling and oppressive. Houses have caught afire and are crushed underneath the rubble. The stars are gone, shrouded in a thick veil of ashy smoke. The sky, cracked open like an egg, releasing a fine rain of soot that dusts the tops of rooftops.

A cold wind brushes past your shoulders, and you wipe the sleep out of your eyes.

To your great relief, what came down from the sky now was not soot, but a mixture of the exhaust from the car‘s tailpipe and snow. It dusts the car and the windshield with a grey powder.

“Is that bad?” you ask Piers, gesturing to the black fumes. He’s whistling to the tune of some song that’s playing on the radio.

“Mornin’, Gloria. Or afternoon. I’ve been stuck in this bloody cab all day I can’t tell which is which.”

“Is it bad? Prolly. Do I care ‘bout it if the car’s workin’... nah.”

The windshield wipers pile all of the snow to the sides of the fractured glass.

“Got a good amount of zzz’s?” he asks, and you realize after telling some of your story to Piers, you had fallen asleep.

The gold bracelet is cold against your wrist. “Not really.”

“Tch. Not like I could even blame you. Who could, after seeing hell on Earth?”

Once the car reaches a snowdrift, however, the speed of the vehicle slows. It then comes to a slow stop.

“Shite.”

Piers turns the key in the ignition, and the car sputters and coughs. It continues on the road for a few minutes, and then abruptly comes to a halt, smack in the middle of the highest point of snowfall.

“—worthless thing’s gone and stalled. Sonuva bitch....!” The older man opens the car door and gives the tailpipe a good kick. The buggy whines in protest but otherwise does nothing. Piers scoffs. “Just our luck.“

He heads to the front of the car and you turn your head to watch him pop the hood open. “Piers? It’s cold out there. You should come here —“

_(come here and I’ll make you mine)_

You shudder and cut off your words off mid sentence. It’s just as well, because Piers isn’t about to head back to the car anyways. Marnie’s older brother’s head whips around, his ponytail coming along with it in a wide arc. “Don’t think I can, Gloria.”

He then slams the car hood, more out of frustration at your current situation than you personally. “Engine’s crapped out ‘cause of the cold. We’ll have to push the car outta the snow.” Looking over at you from the rearview mirror, he says, “I’ll get my Obstagoon and Scrafty to come out an’ push, but I dunno if they can do it by himself. That battle with Leon’s Charizard really did a number on my partners, y’know.”

_And they went back to Rose Tower for you, so this is your fault._

“I want to help,” you say, closing the car door behind you. 

Piers scratches his head and looks away from you guiltily. “Aw, y’know that I don’t like askin’ girls to go and do somethin’ like this. Go and wait in the car with Marnie, okay? Me and my Pokémon got this. You just cheer us on.” He grins foolishly. 

You could almost hear Hop asking you: _Big brothers... Nothing like ‘em, right, Glory?_

“Let me help,” you say, putting a gentle hand on his scrawny arm. “Please. I want to.”

He sighs. “You’re like a doggone poochyena with a bone, y’know that? Just as stubborn as my pesky sister. Bet you an’ my little sis are thick as thieves.”

You hadn’t always been, but you weren’t going to correct him now. “You’ll let me help then?”

He shrugs as if arguing with you would expend too much energy. “Sure, but you ain’t complainin’, got it?”

“Got it.” You hold out your little finger, and almost giggle. It’s like you’re going out for high tea. The tip is blistered from the cold. “Pinky swear.”

He blinks and then waves his hand. “Aww, I’m too old for pinky swearin’. I’ll take you for it.”

After the two of you have cleared away as much snow as you can on both sides of the taxi cab, he grins. “Ready, Gloria?”

You nod, steeling yourself for the task ahead. After clicking open two dusk balls, he tosses them into the cold pale sky. “Okay... C’mon, Scrafty! You too Obstagoon!”

“And push!”

With every push, the car groans like it’s being pulled out of deep mud. Like quicksand but worse. You might say you know the feeling.

After only a few moments of pushing the car out of the snow, you have to stop. The four of you are too tired. You wipe the sweat off of your forehead and gaze to the stars above. The clearing is full of light, as if the scattered stars are the distant remnants of a last stardust.

After briefly resting, you’re at it again with renewed strength. While the four of you push the car out of the snowdrift, Piers asks you:

“...don’t tell me ya seriously thought we were gonna kidnap ya?” Sweat beads his brow despite the cold. “Back in Hammerlocke?”

Shaking your head, you say, “I didn’t really believe it. Nothing about what happened made sense... But it was hard for me to trust Team Yell like that.”

“Maybe I can’t blame ya. Rose must’ve screamed up and down the halls of his cursed fuckin’ tower ‘bout me and Team Yell. He can’t stand any of the folks livin’ in Spikemuth and I’m their bloody leader.”

He looks to you then through his thick fringe of dark and white hair, the convictions in his eyes clear and unmistakeable, even obscured.

“...But I gotta be there for the people in Spikemuth. Bunch of misfits they are, but me and Marn, we’re their family. They don’t got nobody, Gloria. Nobody in this world ‘tall. All their folks are dead an’ gone. We’re all livin’ on the margins.”

Your muscles are beginning to cramp. “I'm sorry. My mum and dad, too."

“Yeah— everybody's mum and dad in Galar, seems like. If we all sent each other sympathy cards, there wouldn't be any left in the entire soddin’ world.”

At last, you push the car out of the mound of snow. Piers wipes his brow.

“Whew! We sure got a workout in... Time for sup.”

“Lucky we got these, huh? I’m deffo tipping my cabbie double next time.” He pops open the glove compartment and reveals two cans of tinned beans and a tan bottle of beer. He tosses a can of beans to you and pops open the beer with his pocket-knife. Foam bubbles over from the neck of the bottle. You frown.

“Piers, you can’t just drink beer.”

Bubbles of foam speckle the corners of his lips. “Why the hell not?”

You eye his arm which was more bone than skin at this point. “Because you have to eat something.”

“What the deuce is it to me?” he laughs. “Listen. I’m so bad with money that I live on _Marmite sandwiches_ for days before payday. My meddlin’ little sis can tell you that better than anyone. I can live on beer an’ chips for a bloody lifetime.”

“Meanwhile, try that tin of beans. It's the best of a bad lot. I gotta save the other one for Marnie. She’ll bite my head off; she hates beans.”

Piers hands you his knife, and you hack into the interior of the tin, leaving a jagged strip of metal where the top of the can was.

You greedily cram the tinned bean mixture into your mouth in heaping handfuls. But it tastes bad, and you promptly heave all of it up. Sludgy bean and tomato mixture spill all over the freshly fallen snow. Piers laughs.

“Bloody hell, Gloria. I knew they weren’t any good but they haven’t gone off, have they?”

You hold the offending can of beans up to his mouth. “You try.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Pass, thanks.”

You could laugh. _Like brother, like sister._ “What are we going to do?” you ask him once he’s downed half of his beer.

Piers wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been travelin’ on this route since I’ve been able to play music. We’re not far from the next town over. I’ll havta... get some mechanic to look at the car in the mornin’. A good one too, not one that tells you to turn the radio up when you hear a shady noise. You’re okay with a motel?”

You laugh but it comes out wrong, all wrong. “As long as it’s not a Motel One.”

Piers makes a disgusted noise. “Pagh... those places got so posh, not like they’ll let us in the front door. I’ll scrounge somethin’ up, but I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can pay for a room for the three of us.”

A thought springs to your mind and you unclasp the bracelet and hold it out to Piers. The gold remains untarnished by the fire. “Please take it. It’ll pay for the cost of a hotel for a few days and food for a week. You said that we don’t have a lot of money.”

That guilty expression again. “Naw, Gloria. You keep it.”

“But you sold _your_ jewelry!”

He dismisses your rebuttal with a disinterested lift and drop of his shoulders. “My duds’re cheap as chips. Just silver, not gold and diamonds... Your bracelet is expensive. People prolly will want to know where you came by somethin’ like that. Too risky.”

You understand his apprehension, but this wasn’t Rose’s gold watch. You attempt to fold his hand over the chain. “We don’t have any money... please. Think about… Think about Marnie.”

“Marnie?” the older man repeats, almost dumbstruck you had mentioned the younger girl. “She’s a tough kid, my little sis. She's almost sixteen; she’ll get by okay. Even if she IS a crybaby.”

Reassuringly, he says, patting your shoulder a little awkwardly: “I’m not put out, Gloria. You keep that bracelet, you hear? Chairman Rose must’ve paid a fortune for it. Hate to think that that soddin’ bastard should get any of his money back.” Piers smiles a little at this as if Rose’s personal misfortune put a shine on his shoes and a little feather in his (metaphorical) cap.

“C’mon. I’ll get Marn from the cab and we’ll head to the next town over on foot.”

You nod, offering him a wan smile and saying nothing.

When the two of you return to the car, you slump against the door like a puppet with severed strings. Your head is pounding and you feel a little sick to your stomach. You hadn’t the heart to tell Piers how you got the bracelet.

 _It shouldn’t matter,_ an angry voice reasoned. The survivor.

But another voice of yours, your conscience now, says, _And why can’t you tell him? Just tell him! It doesn’t matter!_

But it matters. It very well does matter. And you know it.

After choosing to leave the unopened can of beans behind, Piers hoists his sister into his narrow back and the two of you begin to walk to the next town over. He turns to you then, and asks:

“So, after they took you away from Hammerlocke, what happened?”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes + Comments
> 
> 1\. The phrase “living on the margins” is a figurative phrase indicating people who are generally poor and often forgotten or ignored by society. 
> 
> 2\. Marmite: a food spread made from yeast extract and popularized in the United Kingdom. It tastes... unique. It’s definitely an acquired taste.


	15. Iron Hand in a Velvet Glove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Happy October! Let’s go. Sorry for the wait!
> 
> As always, I’m up for any kind of feedback (yes even constructive criticism) that you can give me. Your feedback keeps the wheels of my creative muse turning! I have a pretty thick skin, I like to think, and I’m always trying to improve, so whatever help you can give me I would super appreciate!

* * *

  
“...Raihan, stop stuffing your face! This is _Gloria’s party_ and you’ve already eaten enough to feed two Snorlax! Can’t you wait until the girl gets here to eat?”

The Wyndon Gym Leader scowls. His rangy hands are chock full of pasties and mini tarts AND he’s juggling yet another pasty in his mouth. “Hey! I’m a growing boy—“

“Don’t you think you’ve already done enough growing? How old are you again?” Sonia laughs, elbowing him in the ribs.

Hop chirps, “Wait, wait, she’s coming! Everybody hide!”

You stumble out of the elevator, dressed only in your pyjamas. You wonder why there’s so many people here—

“Surprise!” a chorus of voices cheers. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see some confetti. 

You tilt your head to the side, befuddled. You aren’t quite awake yet; the ordeal at the Macro Cosmos Warehouse has taken a lot out of you. You spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening sleeping. 

“Surprise…?” you ask, groggy. You look to your left and then to your right, bewildered. Hop, Oleana, Raihan, Bede, and even Victor and Sonia are among the guests in attendance in the foyer, which is decorated quite fancifully for a surprise party. “What for?”

Bede scoffs. “Apparently rescuing you from those Team Yell goons is cause for celebration.” He then shrugs, a gesture that indicated: _Don’t ask me._

Huh. Nice of Chairman Rose to throw you a party, even if you were the one who had decided to leave in the first place. But something’s off. “Where’s Leon?” you ask. You hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon, when he had hugged you. It is strange to say, and even stranger to think, but you could almost say you _missed_ him.

Chairman Rose enters the room, a china tea cup in his hand. He’s dressed rather formally in a dove grey suit for a casual party, but that was just the way he liked to dress in front of guests. 

As his eyes scan the room, he purses his lips. Apparently Leon’s absence hadn’t gone unnoticed by him either. “Leon informed me he would be a little tied up with the authorities for the next few hours. Nothing to worry about, I am sure. Nonetheless, we are glad you have decided to come back to us, lovely Gloria! Thus the party.”

As the celebration comes underway, the guests all mill about in the giant room of Rose Tower, asking you what it was like to be taken hostage, and then rescued by a group of super famous Pokémon trainers. From the way they all talked about it, you felt like the event was some unreal thing; something that happened to someone else and not you. 

You would have liked it to happen to someone else, but then again, if it had happened to someone else, then there wouldn’t be all these people here, and they wouldn’t all be doting on _you_. To be honest, it is nice to feel wanted, to feel cared for after a lifetime spent taking care of oneself.

But then you see a large shadow outside of Rose Tower: the telltale sight of Leon dismounting from his Charizard. You break away from the party guests, running outside to greet him. As he returns his Charizard to its pokeball, you notice ashy rings encircling his light colored eyes. His dark hair is all disheveled and his face is soft with stubble. _The police really had kept him all morning._

His eyes meet yours. Then...

“Don’t tell me you’ve all started without me!” Leon laughs, taking his brother’s head in one hand and Victor’s head in another. Despite his tired appearance, he didn’t seem any worse for wear. “I told you I would only be an hour!”

Hop whines, “You can’t just expect us to WAIT for you all the time, Lee!”

Imitating Leon’s little brother, Raihan chimes in, “Yeah, Leon, I was STARVING! You gonna let your best mate STARVE to death?”

Leon scoffs in such a way that it was clear he didn’t think that Raihan was likely to starve to death anytime soon. “Very funny from the brother and the best friend of mine who don’t even _live_ here! I ought to kick all of you freeloaders out of my place!”

Raihan protests, “Whut!? This is my place too, you git! Are you the Wyndon Stadium gym leader? Huh? _Huh?”_

Oleana straightens. She had followed you all outside. She smiles in her very Oleana way, cold and distant. “Champion Leon, it’s good to see you’ve returned. This is all very nice, but you should all get inside before the food gets cold.”

They laugh all together, “Right, right, sorry, Oleana!”

Oleana smiles again placidly. She has that kind of effect on people.

All of the guests hurry inside, leaving you and Leon behind at the rear of the crowd. Before entering the main living room. Leon hangs his cape on the coat rack. You don’t want to bother him, with him looking so exhausted, but it really was good to see him again. 

“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” you say softly. 

His dark eyebrows raise. “You were afraid for me?”

“No, I…” your face is hot. _How to say this without him misunderstanding you?_ “I’m happy that you’re here with me.”

“As am I. We all thought you had just gone and left us again!”

Hmm. But the staff of Rose Tower last night hadn’t been too worried over your sudden disappearance.

“Oh, we were not upset,” a maid had said, shaking her head. “Chairman Rose reminds us all the time that our job is to simply smile and be happy! That is our job! We knew young Master Leon would retrieve you before long!” 

_Retrieve you? Odd choice of wording._

Before you could dwell on it further, you now feel a hand pull at your clothes. Jon is looking up at you. Tears are welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

“I am very happy you’re back… I thought you had left forever.” Jon sniffs. 

Jon. How could you have forgotten about him? You kneel down and wipe his nose with a napkin. “It’s okay. I’m here now. I won’t go away again.”

Leon says: “Oh, Gloria would never do something like that. She cared for you very much. _If you care about someone very much, that means you’ll never leave them.”_

Your mouth is suddenly dry. “That’s… that’s right.”

The Champion takes your wrist in his and you stop walking. The older man then touches the yellow and purple bruise on your face. Despite its tenderness, you wince and pull away.

“...I’m sorry. It still hurts.” you say, your skin stinging around the edges where his fingers had touched. You hadn’t mentioned the automobile crash to Leon or the circumstances in which the truck found itself totaled into the side of a Macro Cosmos warehouse. He hadn’t _liked_ it, but then again, Leon was usually apprised of every event that was going on in the Galar Region every single day. You figured he could live with not knowing what exactly had gone on in the warehouse. 

Ignorance is bliss. 

Leon frowns, but he takes his hand away from your face, and brushes your hair with the back of his knuckles instead. The action is practiced but still kind. “You ought to get it checked out then, Gloria. Hmm? Don’t make me follow up with the medical staff later, all right? You’re always making us worry.” 

A tanned hand then curls into a fist in your hair, possessive and dark. 

“...Is that a _yes or no,_ Gloria?” he says in a tone that has a low and close heat.

Nearly robbed of air by his sudden forceful action, you nod. You want to laugh or talk or do something other than stare at Leon with this dreadfully dull and glazed-over expression on your face. “I’m sorry for making you all worry,” you whisper.

But then Leon shakes his head and his grip on your hair loosens. “You… you don’t have to apologize. I was worried sick about you… we all were.” When his hands come up to cup your cheeks, you bend your head toward him, let him press his dry lips to your closed eyes. “Promise me you won’t go away like that again.”

Something hung in his voice, a fragile note prone to breaking. It troubles you. Why is it so important that _you_ didn’t go away? Leon has everything he wants in the entire world. What is one stupid and unattractive girl to Leon, the greatest Champion on the planet? 

But you promise him you won’t. You didn’t see any harm in it. 

Rose Tower is as elegant as the last time you stepped inside it. The central living room is set with a huge spread of any and every food that anyone would ever like to eat. There were the pasties and mini tarts that Raihan had already started helping himself to ( _ahem_ ), and Jon’s favorite chocolates and candies, and the little curry croquettes that Sonia had made. 

She was a good cook, Hop informs you after taking his fourth (?!) one. 

You have to smile. Sonia hadn’t made it a secret that her and her grandmother were no great fans of Chairman Rose. Yet she had still shown up to Rose Tower anyways. They all had. You wonder if this means they’re your friends.

As you’re then shuffled to the dining room table, you notice a young woman is on the television in the living room. Upon closer inspection, you notice Marnie’s telltale black pigtails and the black and silver choker necklace that sets off her green eyes. 

Her mouth is moving very quickly but the words are indistinct, muffled by the sound of the people talking in the living room. Rose glances at the television, and something… in Marnie’s face _irritates_ him, or at least deeply unsettles him, for the jovial smile on his face lowers into a tightly pressed frown. 

It isn’t quite clear from where you’re standing, but you overhear something on the television about Marnie denouncing the corruption of the Galar League.

After the press asks her about you, she then goes on to deny having anything to do with your kidnapping. She finally concludes her interview with this camera woman by saying that Chairman Rose is framing her and her brother, and then goes on to accuse the Chairman of leaving Spikemuth City to rot, diverting funds from the decaying city to instead pay for the Galar Championships. 

You understand now why Rose is unsettled.

What you didn’t understand is why he isn’t _furious._

“...is what that girl said on the telly _true,_ Mister Rose?” Jon says softly. He’s now drawing a picture of Leon and a small girl hugging, and you have to fight back a smile. Jon always drew you prettier than you actually are. But now his small hand curls around the stubby end of the crayon as he looks to the television, and then down to the paper. 

“Is it my fault… that the people in Spikemuth City have nothing?” 

Rose’s expression is fleeting; it’s immediately there and then gone. Sparing a gentle smile for the young boy, he then laughs, “Not at all, my boy. It’s not as though these poor people would be able to stuff themselves if we were to stop enjoying our lives. Those issues are _unrelated,_ Young Jon.”

“R-really?” he whispers. The radiant spark of hope in Jon’s eyes causes your stomach lining to twist into knots. You recognized that expression, of wanting so badly to believe someone despite the flaws in their logic and in their character. You recognized it in the face of every person who cheered madly at the great battles held in the stadiums of Galar. 

It is also in the reflection of yourself.

Now it’s Leon’s turn to reassure the boy, and he does that by bending down to the boy’s shoulder and gazing straight into his eyes. It would be hard for anyone— much less a little boy who thought the world of him— to look away. “He’s right, little chap. Chin up! Gloria utterly hates to see you upset.” 

You frown and think momentarily about protesting in your own defense. Why did Leon have to bring up how _you_ might feel about Jon’s unhappiness? You didn’t like him using you as an emotional cudgel with which to beat Jon over the head with: if Jon was upset, he had the right to be upset, didn’t he? Why resort to emotional blackmail?

Then you remember the maid who had greeted you in the foyer with the sickeningly happy expression on her face. You realize now that this is the axis on which the world of Rose Tower turns: _no one_ is allowed to be unhappy for long. Every wrinkle must be smoothed out, every conflict must be defused, and if you had a problem with the way things were being run…

….it was best to keep it to yourself.

Oleana looks down her nose at the flickering image of Marnie on the television. “Chairman Rose and the Champion are correct. Besides, you didn't pay for the clothes you wear out of their pockets. It was that trash in Spikemuth that extorted money from the Pokémon League and then squandered it. It wasn't _you.”_

Despite their efforts, the pained expression on Jon’s face only worsens, and he appeared to be one good misstep away from a full fledged cry. It isn’t hard to understand why— _cheer up, it’s not your fault they’re garbage —_ is no great consolation for the miserable girl on the television. And you understand they are trying to cheer Jon up. But it didn’t feel right. 

Did they have to do it in exchange for putting someone else down? Could Marnie… and whoever else was in charge at Team Yell truly be at fault for their own hardships?

Could they really be to blame?

Then something unexpected happens. Leon turns his attention fully on you and it’s a bright and hard spotlight shining on your face. “But I understand, Jon. Why hear it from me when you can hear it from the little rookidee’s mouth, eh? What do YOU think, Gloria?”

_Tread carefully. Very, very carefully._

“...I think everyone in Rose Tower cares about you, very much, Jon,” you say, feeling the edges of your face burn under the increased scrutiny of Leon’s gaze. He is no cop or secret agent, but he very well could play the part of one. He IS a very good actor. “And they’re just trying their best to make you feel better.” 

A muscle in his face briefly twitches. It hadn’t been the total vote of confidence Leon had hoped for, and somehow his pained expression hurts you too.

...why is that? Was it because he had saved you? 

It had to have been. Leon had taken your words to heart, and became the hero you told him everyone believed he was. 

That shining beacon in the midst of the darkness.

He was late to welcoming you home because he was making sure you were safe. He had probably spent the whole night out in Hammerlocke, giving what information he could to the police and fighting off the paparazzi. 

You wish that Rose and his PR Team hadn’t publicized the event of your rescue, but if Leon was involved, there would be no hiding from the cameras or the press. He _is_ a public figure in Galar and that’s a fact that takes some getting used to. 

_And Team Yell kidnapped you to prove a point; that has to mean something. Team Yell kidnapped you, and they could have killed you. The people here at Rose Tower love you. They came back for you. They didn’t have to. They could have let you die there. Oleana would probably be happier for it. Bede wouldn’t have any rival to pester for Chairman Rose’s attention. And Leon…_

What about Leon?

Rose, having remained quiet after his initial exchange with Jon, had been taking mental notes of your conversation with the boy and watching you very carefully. And then, suddenly, he raps his small silver spoon against the side of the floral tea mug. A sachet of earl grey tea is inside, perfuming the air with the scent of citrus. All eyes in the room go to him intuitively. 

“Ah. And there’s… also one more thing. I had hoped not to mention it, as not to vex you unnecessarily, Young Jon.” His voice drops an octave lower. 

“But those delinquents… they attempted to _harm_ Gloria.”

Oh no. Reflected in those clever, glass-green eyes of the Chairman, some nefarious, well-oiled gear is turning, _click-click-click_ in his head, and Leon glances to him almost instinctively for guidance. A strange light is struck in Leon’s eyes, and just by sharing this glance with Rose, suddenly he understands…

Whatever it is, however, remains between them. 

Rose continues, his tone gentle but still very harsh, an iron fist inside a velvet glove, “Yes, they were going to hurt Gloria very, very badly, Jon. It worries me sick just imagining it. Fortunately, our Champion was there, and like a bold knight on a shining steed, he swooped in and saved our princess in distress.”

“You _did?”_ Jon’s eyes grow wide, excited as his eyes take in the sight of Leon. This story is just like the ones he was told at the hospital and the ones he’s seen on the television. It is familiar and comforting and one he’s not likely to disbelieve.

Leon chuckles and his broad chest swells with pride. “Well, I can't take _all_ the credit.” 

“Is it true, Gloria?” Jon says, looking to you like the whole foundation of his hopes and dreams rested on what you were to say next. What were you supposed to say in response? _No, that’s not right? No, the kind man who saved you isn’t who he said he is? No, no, no?_ Can you even _say_ things like that to a child _—_ much less to a child as fragile as Jon? 

Who were you to crush his hopes underneath ill founded skepticism? Who were you to take his dreams away from him? 

“...no, he was a real hero,” you say, almost instinctively. In front of all of these people, and Rose and Leon _both_ staring at you; you can’t even bring yourself to lie to Jon. It is the truth, isn’t it? You have no proof to the contrary, besides the word of two people who admittedly had ulterior motives in tarnishing Leon and Rose’s reputation: Lance had lost _his_ world championship title in his match against Leon, and Marnie wanted to be Champion _herself_.

So you say it again, wanting desperately to believe it, with the foolish hope that saying it would bring the words into reality. “Leon was a real hero.”

Jon’s uncertain smile breaks into a wide grin. Crisis averted. 

But... for how long?  
  


* * *

  
In the interest of maintaining Jon’s already fragile mental state and you needing to rest after your ordeal at the warehouse, the two of you spent the rest of the day playing a hide and seek game. You alternated who was the one to hide and who was the one to find, because it was easier to remember your roles that way. When you were the one hiding, you had always made sure to find a spot that was obvious to hide in (under the bed, in a closet, in a clothes hamper, etc), because the goal of the game was to reassure him.

You would always be easy to find. You wouldn’t go away from him again.

But this time, Jon had done quite a good job of hiding from you, because you can’t find him at all. You had searched all over Rose Tower looking for him, asked all of the maids and the people working inside, but none were able to make heads or tails of his whereabouts.

Despite not thinking that Jon would be able to go to the roof of Rose Tower, you take the elevator up to the topmost level. Your nose picks up who it is before your ears do the man whose very scent—dark, woodsy, with a sharp citrus tone is unmistakable. _Bergamot,_ you realize, like earl grey tea.

Rose’s voice can be heard from beside a window. You flatten yourself behind a crevice. Judging from his grave tone, you shouldn’t have come. Still, it was too late to run from your place there, tucked in an odd corner of this odd and airy window-studded room. “Your behavior last night was unacceptable. You know that. It may be good for you to remember the terms set out in our contract. Remember that? You are quite indebted to me.” 

Coolly, the man framed in shadow standing across from him replies, “I am aware, Rose.”

Looking closer at the Chairman now, you notice Rose’s brown cheeks are mottled with color. If the sight of Marnie on the television had made him angry, then _whatever_ this man had done last night had downright disturbed him. 

“If you are aware of your debt, then EXPLAIN yourself! These were fine people, Leon! You can’t simply walk down a boulevard in Wyndon and pull men with that kind of discretion off the street! Do you know how long it will take me to find a replacement for them?”

He thrusts a black and white uniform into the black silhouette’s arms. The man— Leon, you realize — calmly gathers the clothes into a bundle in his muscular arms. You didn’t know why these rags were such a big deal. For all intents and purposes, they looked just like the uniform that all of Rose’s employees wore.

Interestingly enough, Leon’s voice is the one that is at peace, not Rose’s. Adjusting his hat, he says, “Oh, that’s nice to hear, Rose. And I’m very sorry about the trouble you’ll have to go to. But I don’t expect you to understand what I did. How about I give you a spot of advice for a change, hmm?”

Leon’s expression is unreadable as he emerges from the shadow the building had cast, and then comes face to face with the older man. 

_“Don’t go getting so caught up in things that you forget what you’ve accomplished until now,”_ Leon says in a low tone, drawing himself up to his full height. He’s taller than Rose now. 

“What I’m trying to say, Rose, is you _need me_ more than I need you. What’s a couple of mediocre men and women to the greatest champion in the world, eh? You’ll find replacements in no time at all. You can hardly expect me to feel bad for the lot of them!” 

Rose opens his mouth to fire some retort back, but then promptly closes it. There is the slightest change in his expression, the tiniest fracture, before it is sealed up again, his face smooth as a plate of steel. “I still have that bit of leverage, Leon. You would be foolish enough to dash your legacy to pieces over some form of petty revenge?”

His posture straightens. “You wouldn’t dare. Not after what Lance said. You’re on the hook for this just as much as I am.”

Rose frowns. “Or perhaps I would. You’re becoming reckless. Very reckless.”

Leon’s expression becomes grim, his cheekbones sharp lines against his tawny skin. “Is that why you’ve sponsored Bede and Gloria? To try and take me down? You’re delusional if you think that’ll work out as well as you hope, Rose. Do you think they’d be willing to do half of the things I do for you? Quietly?”

Rose smooths his chin, and then turns his attention to the people on the street, who are tinier than ants to the two giants who stand above them. He clenches his jaw, but manages to contain his temper this time. “I wouldn’t say that. Call them _insurance,_ my boy. Every man ought to invest in a little insurance. It’s just good business sense. You’ll learn when you get to be my age.”

Leon barks a laugh. “Business sense? If you think Bede has what it takes for your little experiments, Rose, you’re in for a nasty surprise. And Gloria…” The younger man growls and the rough sound wraps around your throat. “She’s worth last night. _Gloria_ is worth it.”

But what had exactly happened last night? While you were sleeping?

And then the sound of your shoe squeaks on the polished glass floor.

Leon’s voice. “Huh? Who’s there?”

Shoot. You need to get going. _Now._

You jam the DOWN elevator key. It sticks in the slot.

You can’t bear to look over your shoulder. You know there’s no time. _Why did everything in this stupid place have to be electronic?!_

But then the elevator opens and you practically break a finger bone jabbing the GROUND FLOOR key. _Go. Go-go-go._

The sound of their voices follow you down the corridor. Your pulse pounding in a thundering staccato in your ears, you swear that if you aren’t caught that you’ll be good and never go back to the roof or go poking your nose into places where it doesn’t belong ever again.

You run into the living room—

And run smack dab into the tiny figure of Jon.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he nearly sobs, not at all upset that you had nearly ran him over. He’s holding the ring of keys you had given him in one trembling palm. “I didn’t even hide in a hard place this time, either!”

You pat his back. That was close. Too close for comfort. You shudder to think what would have happened if you had been discovered by Leon OR Rose. But you hadn’t been, and it is better to force your mind off the both of them. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry I couldn’t find you. Come on. I think that’s enough fun for today, okay?”

As you work on steadying your heartbeat on your way back to the boy’s room, you ask Jon:

“You did such a good job hiding! Where did you hide this time?”

Bashfully, he raises his shoulders as if he thought he could hide between them. “I can’t tell. It’s a secret.”

“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re just going to keep the good hiding places to yourself!”

Jon scratches his head. “Well, I couldn’t find that room you told me about… that secret garden room. I thought I found it, but…”

You stand frigidly still. All you hear for a moment is the deafening sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

He couldn’t have gone in the basement, right? No, he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. Before handing Jon the ring of iron keys for your hide and seek game, you had made him swear: _never, ever, EVER use this gold key. Do you understand?_

He said he had understood. And yet… 

You ask the boy very slowly, kneeling down to his height, “Jon, you didn’t use the golden key, did you? You _promised_ me you’d never use this key. You didn’t break our promise, did you? I won’t be mad at you if you did.”

The young boy shakes his head vehemently. His hands are clammy and slimy with a sheen of cold sweat. “No! I swear!”

Still shaking his head, Jon then reaches out to you with an impulsive hug. You return the embrace, happy he is at the point where he felt comfortable enough to do so with becoming embarrassed— he’s at that age where boys didn’t like being hugged very much.

As you stroke your hand over the boy’s little back, your eyes look over his shoulder. You turn over the key in your hand.

Sweat beads on the back of your neck.

_Blood._

* * *

_  
Yesterday night,_ Leon went and found the people who had taken you from him. This took some doing— Rose had made sure his hires all lived in different cities, but eventually Leon tracked them all down, one by one. There was the trio of obsessed fangirls he had had a gentle talk with in an isolated street in Wyndon; the caveat of their talk being that he would make sure that they were blacklisted from _every_ fan meeting of his in the entire country if they didn’t come clean with information.

The prospect of being cut off from their obsession looming large and dark in their minds, they were only happy to oblige. 

Leon was familiar with the feeling, and he had let them run straight into the cold embrace of the law afterwards.

He liked to believe he was a gentleman. 

The others… were not as lucky. Oh, Rose had done his utmost to make them difficult to find, but the communications in Rose Tower had internal weaker encryption. And the Galar Champion was no hacker, but there were those always willing to do whatever he asked for a price. While _you_ slept peacefully in the soft satin sheets of a carefully made bed, he had spent his evening hunting down those villains, and exacting their rightfully deserved punishment. He would be damned if he would let them escape justice. Rose would have just given them all a slap on the wrist.

He didn’t know what Rose and Oleana had expected. _Of course he would come looking for them._

The most fortunate among your kidnappers had been the truck driver in Hammerlocke, who had been instantly killed in the head-on collision. Too bad for him. Leon would have liked to show him a good time. As for the men Rose had hired, well, there was always some fresh blood the Chairman could get ahold of; he was damnably persuasive that way. Leon doubted anyone would miss them. Or recognize them when he was finished. 

While Leon cleaned the blood from his last project off of his face with a hand towel, he felt a pocket in the back of his trousers vibrate. He checked the phone and held it against his shoulder. Hop’s voice is bright and chirpy static in his ear. “Hey, Lee! What’re you up to?”

A smile spread across the Galar Champion’s face. He would be happy to have his little brother as company while he cleaned up. Leon set his phone down on a kitchen countertop and hooked his arms up underneath the body by the armpits, then dragged it along the floor the same way one might with a full sack of potatoes. He grunted, “Nothing much at all, Hop. But I wanted to congratulate you— I saw your gym battle against Allister. That was some marvelous strategy against his Ghost-types! Have you been practicing those moves I’ve been showing you?”

“See, I knew you’d notice! I did it just like the way you trounced Kabu that one time. But…” Hop said, “Lee, Mum says you haven’t been calling again. You know she works herself into a snit when you don’t call home.”

Leon sighed and propped the body against a wall, only for it to slump to the side. He’d go over and fix it after— Hop would let his older brother _really_ have it if he didn’t hear him out. Leon’s aging mother, Wishing Stars bless her soul, often prattled on about how he was spending too much time with Chairman Rose. There had been rumors that he and Rose were a little too close for comfort, that there was something a little _strange_ about their relationship—

If only it were simple as all that. If only everyone knew the truth. 

Leon had to stop now and catch his breath. He was beginning to get tired; he had gone to the weight room in Rose Tower earlier in the evening, after he had been roundly questioned by the police. _Bloody stupid decision now,_ he realized. _Why work out when catching and bludgeoning these scoundrels was a damned workout in itself?_ He idly wondered if one burned as many calories doing bicep curls compared to swinging a tire iron into a person’s head. It was the same motion, wasn’t it? When he began again to drag the bloodied and listless corpse to behind a mass of wooden crates, the Galar Champion wheezed:

“Nothing much, Hop. Just taking care of a few things on the docket. You know how it is— a Champion‘s work is never done!”

His brother let out a great big whoop, but his tone quickly fell to a murmur. Leon had told Hop to keep his voice down several times before, and his words were only now beginning to sink in. “I know, Lee! It’s because you’re the best, most unstoppable Champion in the whole world. I’ve _tried_ to tell Mum that it’s not gonna be the same as when you were livin’ in the old house, but you know, big bro. Girls, right? Always getting all weepy.”

Leon looked behind him and had to fight back the urge to swear. The blood had trailed behind the body, cutting a crimson and slimy path across the linoleum like a shelmet trail. It would take the entire night to clean. And the entire morning besides to erase any traces of the Champion from the scene.

 _No time like the present,_ he sighed, concealing the body and looking for the suds bucket of bleach and water. He’d have utterly hated to get his favorite outfit dirty. Luckily there was always a spare Macro Cosmos uniform in his back closet.

The last one had been the hardest to finish off. It always was. While the man had begged for mercy, the Champion had said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you suffer like she did.” 

But Leon had made him suffer and some of the bitter red blood had gotten into his mouth while he laughed.

He chuckled at the thought of the man’s whimpering face and finished wiping the spatter from his nose. “Hah! Play nice, Hop. Professor Magnolia will give you a right thrashing if she hears you talking like that; you know how it is with her.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Lee.”

“Don’t worry about it— I try to be strict with you, but I care about you very much, Hop! And I’m very glad you understand me. I can always count on you.”

Hop’s voice brightened. “Cause I… know how it is, right?

Leon looked down at his handiwork then and smiled. “That’s right.”

_You know how it is._


	16. Interlude 2: A Child Has Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Family is the most important thing in the entire world,” is what you said to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, guys! I hope you’re all doing OK. Hopefully 2021’s better than 2020, yeah? I’ll try to be less sporadic with updates in the future. That’s a good New Year’s resolution, huh?
> 
> As an FYI, this chapter takes place with multiple POV’s, and in the past + present. I’ve done my best to make it readable, but if something’s confusing/unclear, feel free to let me know!

* * *

  
_A little more than a decade ago,_ the Chairman of the Pokémon League would make regular visits to the Galar Trainer’s Academy, formerly located in the heart of Wyndon. Being one of the school’s major benefactors, he liked to check on the state of the academy from time to time. Departing from Rose Tower, the Chairman would walk the same quarter mile to the school, making a left on Baker Street, a right on Kings Road, then a left on Pleasant Drive. He would know he had arrived when he spotted the children hurrying to class, the girls wearing gray plaid jumpers and white shirts; the boys, a mustard-colored collared shirt and gray slacks.

Most Galarian children had been happy to attend, but there was the occasional troublemaker (who would be disciplined appropriately), and Rose did not hear of many repeat offenders. This was by design: like every other aspect in his life, Chairman Rose liked his businesses to run smoothly and without much fuss.

But this day was not fussless, as most days were. 

No. It was to be a day the likes of which Chairman Rose would not soon forget.

As Rose checked over one of the balance sheets of the school’s expenditures in the Academy’s main office, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pair of young boys dragged into the school’s small office by a secretary. Their uniforms were torn in several places and caked with dirt.

One of the boys screamed, “He started it! Leon started it–“ 

The other boy pushed him onto the office floor and kicked him in the underside of his belly for good measure. 

“NOBODY talks about me and my little bro that way!” the boy yelled, and drew his foot back to kick him again. 

“That’s enough, the both of you!” the woman yelled shrilly, pulling the two feuding children apart, and Leon, up and away from the curled-up boy on the floor. “How many times must we separate you two? Leon, apologize _immediately!”_

He turned away. Didn’t say a word more in response.

After glancing over at the squabbling boys, the headmaster wrung her bony hands over in one another, dismayed. “Chairman, I sincerely apologize that you had to see this...” 

The headmaster took a few prim steps towards the three of them, then turned to the secretary, and then to the two schoolchildren. While the secretary helped the other boy off the ground and ushered him to the nurse’s office, the academy headmaster grasped the standing boy's hand and pulled it up and away from him, yanking it high into the air.

“What is it now, Leon? You’ve gotten yourself into another fight?” 

“Well?” With her other hand, the older woman pushed the boy’s head downward to staring at the floor. One tawny cheek was swollen and purple, and his hands had crusty scabs on their knuckles. Signs of a telltale troublemaker. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Come now, there’s no need for such harshness,” Rose said, keeping his tone light so as to not admonish the woman. He looked down at the boy. He noticed that his catlike yellow eyes were looking rather determinedly at the pattern of tiles on the floor. “Young man… no, Leon. Is that right? What has caused you to be so upset at your classmate?” 

But this boy did not answer Rose’s questions either. He crossed his little arms across his narrow chest and pressed his mouth into a firm line. 

“The Chairman of the Pokémon League is speaking to you,” the headmaster said crossly to the boy. Rose began to find her attitude matronly and distasteful. “Answer his question.”

“What do you want from me?” he muttered. 

“You disrespectful and UNGRATEFUL boy,” she snapped. “That is Chairman Rose you are speaking to! I’d call your mother, but she never seems to pick up the phone anyways–“ 

He glanced up, a look of abject fear struck in the pupils of his eyes. 

“No! Don’t do that!” the boy shouted, panicked. “Don’t call Mum. I won’t fight anymore, I swear!”

Then Rose raised a hand. Clicked his tongue.

“That’s enough,” he said. 

Taking her eyes off the boy, the headmaster pleaded, “But, Chairman Rose…”

He smiled, and shook his head. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I think I’d like to have a chat with this young man.” Rose then beckoned the boy forward with a wave of his hand, and the woman pushed him towards the Chairman. 

“Leon, was it? Let's have a talk. Come with me.”  
  


* * *

The hard TOK-TOK of a fist knocking on wood is one of the only sounds that can be heard for miles around. 

“Hello? Is there a man by the name of Peony living at this residence?” 

Detective Looker knocks briskly. Raises his voice slightly.

“Hello?”

Before knocking again, Looker glances up at the small logged house. The lights were on inside, indicating someone is home… but nobody is answering the door.

His brow furrows. _Could this really be the place? This IS Freezington..._

Looker rubs the sides of his arms. This settlement had to be Freezington, because it certainly felt like it. 

Located to the north of the Galar Region, far, far, faraway from the region’s capital, is a frosty wilderness known mostly to explorers as the Crown Tundra. The tundra’s environment is subject to extreme temperatures, and even more extreme conditions, and so only people and Pokémon suited to the harsh conditions can make their home in such an inhospitable place. Tonight, it just so happens that a certain detective has braved his way through the harsh weather of the tundra, all in search of a certain man and his remaining family, said to be living within the settlement of Freezington.

Last night, in the lobby of the Rose of the Rondelands, Lance’s voice had come sharply through the speaker of Detective Looker’s Rotom Phone. 

“I've gathered some new intel,” he said in a low tone. “I think it’s something you’ll find pretty interesting.”

“What is it?” Looker asked, muffling the speaker and leaning into the receiver. He was hoping to hear good news. Two nights ago in Wyndon, a nineteen-year-old girl who should have returned home from her part-time job at the PokéMart dropped her backpack to dial a friend; her parents were out of the country and she intended to stay at the friend’s house. The call had rung one and a half times when there was a scream. Then a dead tone afterwards.

Neither the girl nor her body had been found. 

The Johto Champion exhaled deeply into the receiver, causing a little bit of initial static. “Nothing about the trainer disappearances, unfortunately. But you should still hear this. Apparently Rose has a younger brother… name’s Peony. From the information I've been able to gather, he used to be the Champion of Galar, maybe more than a decade ago. But get this: right after he became Champion, Rose and Peony had a falling out, and the two men are now estranged.” 

“...That explains why nobody speaks of the man,” Looker murmured. “But why would Rose’s younger brother live in Freezington, so far away from Wyndon?” 

“Beats me. My best guess is that you don’t want one of the most powerful men in the world as an enemy,” Lance said. “And I don’t blame him. From what I’ve heard, he’s also got a family. What’s left of one, anyway.” 

As Det. Looker considered this new information, a troubled frown widened across his face. _A family…?_ It was hard to believe that a man (much less a relative of Chairman Rose) would raise a family in such an isolated part of the world. Nevertheless, Looker thanked the Johto Champion for the information, and went to the Crown Tundra the day after to investigate.

“Could this really be the place?” Looker wonders, as he stares up at the small log house, located not too far away from the small settlement of Freezington. He breathes into his hands, and its warmth comes out in small intermittent puffs of mist. It is hard for his hands to feel anything in the severe cold. 

He curls his hand into a fist. Looks up into the brightly lit windows of the house. _Should_ he knock again? 

Looker then knocks on the front door again. Once. Twice. Then three times. 

“H-hello….?!” he says, his teeth chattering hard. The tundra’s brisk wind is shrieking. “Explorer Peony? Are you there…?” 

Taking his hand off of the heavy wood, the detective then looks around at the frost laden trees, and notices spire-like icicles like jagged ice picks hanging off the gnarled branches. If he remains out here any longer, he is likely to freeze to death. 

With both hands, Looker cups his mouth, and bellows:

_“Hellllllllllllo?! Is ANYONE inside?!”_

He inhales and then exhales heavily.

 _That should get his attention…_

Indeed roused by the noise, the door opens, and Looker is greeted by a large and imposing man dressed from head to toe in an orange explorer’s uniform. He doesn’t look extremely happy to see him, but Looker’s relieved that at least he won’t be left to freeze into a human-shaped icicle out here in the tundra cold. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, the detective says, “My apologies for yelling so loudly, sir. I thought I would surely freeze to death out here. I am looking for an explorer by the name of Peony. Would you happen to know where he is?” 

But the older man makes no move to let him inside. Folding his arms across his chest, he asked gruffly, “Who’s askin’?” 

The man’s resemblance to Chairman Rose is remarkable. Same skin tone, same facial hair, same shade of green eyes. Differences in body type aside, the two men could have been fraternal twins. 

The detective clears his throat by pounding his chest briskly. The currently severe expression on the older man’s face doesn’t seem natural— to police, he would have what’s known as a ‘smiling face’. However, the sheer height and brawn of the man frightens Looker. 

Speaking rapidly, he says, “O-Of course, I forget myself! My name is Detective Looker. I am a member of the International Police. I was hoping to speak to Peony in hopes that he would be able to aid an ongoing investigation —“ 

Looker’s rewarded for his courtesy by the front door promptly slamming in his face. 

With an indignant huff, he thinks: _Well! At least the man was quick about it._

Looking back at the small house, he murmurs to himself, “But that… _was_ Rose’s younger brother, wasn’t it?” 

He sighs. The older man’s resemblance to Rose is close, too close, and so the only conclusion Looker can draw is that Peony has just slammed the door in his face.

 _“.... always a reason why people do the things they do,”_ the stern voice of 000 reminds him, and Looker sighs. 000 is right. He always is. There is often a simple explanation for a person’s actions, and the reason why Peony had chosen to raise his family in an isolated part of the world is because the man didn’t want to be inundated with questions about his family.

“I’ll search for leads elsewhere,” Looker mutters, turning from the door and looking out towards the scattered houses of Freezington. “They must have better reception further into town… surely it wouldn’t be too much trouble to borrow a resident’s phone…?”

But then, as Looker muses about how exactly far a flying taxi would travel in inclement weather, the door to the old log house swings wide open with a BANG!, causing the detective to jump a couple of feet into the air. 

Grinning wide, the man from earlier gestures to himself with two large thumbs pointed at his face.

“Ahahaha! You’re lookin’ at the former world famous Steel-type gym leader Peony IN THE FLESH, my friend! I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have for me!”

Taken aback at the older man’s rather _abrupt_ change in demeanor, Looker stammers, “Y-Yes, well, I—“ 

Peony throws a muscular arm around him, squeezing the younger detective’s shoulder, and Looker hears a bone crack. He tries not to wince. 

While ushering the detective inside, the man laughs, “A fellow dressed like you must be freezing, don’t you know it ALWAYS snows around these parts!? Why don’t you take that thin trenchcoat off and dry your mitts inside? My daughter’d be super-ultra-mega stoked to have some extra company; I think Brandon’s about to bore her to tears.”  
  


* * *

  
While he and the young boy walked to the playground just outside in the school’s courtyard, Chairman Rose attempted to make idle conversation. 

“So, Leon. Do you like school?” 

“No.” 

“That’s a pity. What can we do to fix that?” 

“Nothing.”

Rose frowned. Finally, the two of them came to a stop underneath the cool shade of a flowering magnolia tree.

“... I see you’re all alone,” Rose said, silently noting no one in the schoolyard had come to talk with the boy. “You’re not in trouble, you know. Why don’t they come over here and play with you?”

Indeed, a couple of his classmates would glance over every so often in Leon’s direction, whisper amongst themselves, and then return to what they had been previously doing.

The boy kicked a stray rock on the ground and shrugged.

“It’s ‘cause they think I’m a bad kid. Who cares.”

Leon then sniffed, and wiped some dried blood from his nose and snorted it into the ground. Strangely enough, Rose did not think he was _unhappy,_ but he did not look _happy,_ either. The expression on his face was rather self-possessed for a child, and slightly solemn, as if he knew something the rest of the cheerful, gap-toothed school children did not.

He hoarsely laughed, “You know, my young brother was the same as you. Always diving headfirst into some bit of trouble. But he didn’t have a bad heart. He always had good intentions.” 

At this confession, the boy’s expression became less sullen. “You have a brother too?”

Rose nodded. There was no need to tell this boy that he and Peony hadn’t spoken in years. “Of course. A younger brother. He was always getting into some bit of trouble that I would have to get him out of.” 

The boy kicked up some dust with the sole of his old sneaker. It did not escape Rose’s notice that his shoes were hole-y and worn. “I have a little bro too. That’s the reason I beat that kid up. It’s ‘cause my and my little bro don’t have a Pa anymore. They were saying some stupid rubbish about my mum, and me and Charmeleon weren’t going to let it go. Never.”

The Chairman frowned.

_Hmm. Must be shameful for the boy, not having a father._

Rose smoothed his chin. “Well. That’s no good. No good at all.” He then looked to the left, and then to the right. “... Tell me, young trainer, is Leon your name?”

The young boy paused.

“Yeah,” he said, after some hesitation.

An affable smile spread across the Chairman’s face then. “Hmm, Leon. I like that name, Leon. It has an air of stardom about it. Yes, make no mistake about it. I think you are a special child, Leon. I think you are destined for wonderful things.” 

The boy Leon frowned. “You’re a weird man, Mister Rose.”

Rose laughed. “I’ve been told that before too.”

As he watched a child swing back-and-forth on the bars of the jungle gym, Leon mumbled, “Can you tell the people in the office not to call my mum? She’s working late today. I don’t want her to hear I’ve been scrapping with other kids again. She’ll be really mad.”

“Of course,” Rose said. “I wouldn’t want you to have to worry about a thing.” 

He then glanced down at the boy, whose sullen expression seemed to set him apart from the rest of the joyful children in the playground. The carefree sound of children’s laughter could be heard in the distance. Speaking slowly, Rose said, “I think there’s something remarkable about you, Leon. I think you’re the type who isn’t easily swayed, am I correct? Once you’ve set your mind to something, you won’t stop until you get it.” 

Leon wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand. Two pupils like shards of yellow glass then stared up at the Chairman. “Yeah. I don’t care who stands in my way. I want to be the best. More than anyone in the whole entire world.”

Rose patted his little hatted head. “... I like that very much about you, Leon.”

* * *

  
Despite the out-of-the-way location, Peony’s house is furnished with everything a man and his daughter needs to survive in the elements. Upon walking in, Looker notices that the house’s walls are thick and doubly insulated as to better protect against the tundra chill. The roof is built with steel plates to melt piling snow off. The vinyl plank flooring would not absorb cold, and the double-paned windows were fitted with a seal around the edges to keep the heat in and cold out.

In spite of their initially rocky start, Looker had to admit to himself that Peony’s ingenuity impressed him. Even he would not mind living in a house like this, and Looker did not particularly enjoy the cold. Not even the citizens in Snowpoint City had built such a warm and safe home.

“Make yourself at home!” Peony proclaims, motioning to the seats at the wide table in the living room. He then says into the house, “Hey, Nia! Guess who came over? You know you’ve always wanted to talk to a international superspy!”

Peony looks to the left, and then to the right.

“... ‘Nia?” 

No sound comes out from inside the house. 

But the former Steel-type gym leader only laughs. Putting his hands behind his head, he chuckles, “Guess my little girl’s already headed to bed! My old friend Brandon must’ve put her right to sleep with one of his war stories about some ancient Pokémon. Feel free to make yourself at home though, boss.”

Looker does, taking off his drenched trenchcoat and hanging it at the table. As he walks to the table, he notices a picture frame hanging high on one wall. In it, a lovely woman with soft golden hair is standing by Peony’s side, and a girl with a cheerful and jaunty blonde bob is perched high on her father’s shoulder. 

They looked happy.

After Looker has settled down at the table, Peony marches over to the kitchenette. An electric coffee maker is plugged into the wall outlet. “You like a cuppa of joe?” he asks. 

Looker gratefully smiles and nods. “A cup of coffee would be excellent.”

“Sure! It’s still on from this morning, so I’ll have to make a fresh pot if you don’t want it to taste like Black Sludge!”

As Peony prepares the coffee grounds, he asks, “So, what’s this about an investigation you wanted me to help you with?”

Looker watches him pour the coffee grounds into the drip coffee maker. “It’s about the trainers going missing in the capital, sir.” he says quietly.

Peony sets the coffee maker’s setting to BREW on HIGH and takes a seat across from Looker. “Ah, yeah. Damn shame about those kids. I hope that you guys’ll be able to find the nasty freak who’s doing that and put him away for good.” Peony then scratches the area between his helmet and his head. “But I haven’t lived in Wyndon for at least half a decade, so I dunno what I could help you with.”

Looker twiddles with his frost-bitten thumbs. 

“Actually… we were hoping you could tell us more about your brother.” 

Peony drops a glass down onto the sink with a hard CLUNK. 

“What? Rose? You think he’s related to this somehow?”

“We have nothing definitive to go on, so far, but he is linked to the disappearances.”

At that very moment, the front door swings open. A man clad in a khaki green explorer’s uniform caked in snow trudges through the doorway and kicks off his boots on the WELCOME HOME! mat. After taking off his boots, he hangs his brown trilby on the coat-rack.

“Hey, chief,” Peony says to him, raising his hand in greeting. “Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

The man takes off the thick green scarf covering his face and nods his head slightly, but makes no more effort at conversation.

“Haha, guess the expedition for Regieleki didn’t go too well, huh?”

The older man grunts again and sprawls out on the couch. Looker saw he was no conversationalist. The detective then clears his throat.

“Explorer Peony,” Looker says again. “Did you hear my question? We would like to hear any information concerning your brother’s dealings in Wyndon over the past decade… any information you could provide us with would be a great help.”

As Peony turns back to Looker, however, an overcast shadow comes over his face.

“I’m sorry, boss. I can’t help you.”

“W-What?” Looker stammers. “Why not?”

Peony reiterates: 

“Listen, if this is about Rose, I can’t help you. Simple as that. I don’t know anything about that. We haven’t talked in ages, anyhow.”

“We are _not_ naming him as a suspect at this point in time,” Looker says, feeling Lance’s hard-earned lead slip away from him and vanish into the tundra’s cold wind. He desperately needed any information Peony could give him.

“If he’s not a suspect, then why do you have to ask me about my older brother?” Peony asks pointedly.

Looker cannot come up with a good response for an answer to that particular question, and the older explorer sighs.

“Knew it. Sorry, but I can’t tell you anything. Even if I wanted to.”

 _Even if he wanted to?_ Looker isn’t able to understand what that sentence of Peony’s means, either. 

So, in the end, Peony is able to answer little about his older brother. Whether this stemmed from his reticence to talk about his older brother, or genuine ignorance, Looker isn’t sure. Peony wasn’t very forthcoming about the subject of Rose. Nevertheless, Looker shakes his head and stands up from the table, passing him a thin laminated piece of cardstock. 

“Thank you for cooperating with our investigation. If you hear of any information that would aid in the search for these disappeared trainers, please give this number a call and ask for Agent Looker.”

Peony takes the business card from him and frowns. Had Looker not been in the room with him then, he thought Peony would have thrown his card away without a second thought. As he opens his mouth to speak, Stumbling from the upstairs bedroom, a young woman with Peony’s same green eyes scrubs her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Dad?” she mumbles. 

Attempting to look unbothered, Peony says, “Hey, Nia. You should go back to bed, sweetheart.”

Peony then glances at Looker, and that previous frostiness is back as if it had never left.

_That’s your cue to leave, my friend._

And years of experience has taught Looker how to take a hint.

Before the detective heads out, however, Peony’s house-guest takes him aside. Brandon’s wearing a similar explorer’s jumpsuit as Peony, but his is entirely khaki green as opposed to Peony’s neon orange. He has a similar accent to that of Kabu of Galar Gym Leader fame. “Peony’s stubbornness aside, if you do not get more of the region’s citizens on your side, you will be fighting a losing battle against Chairman Rose and the Galar Pokemon League.” 

Looker’s brows furrow. “I beg your pardon?”

Looking equally as exasperated, Brandon snaps, “No! You have to listen to me. Some people can be brave, but you have to understand: most people are not like that! They seek the approval of their social circles. It's typical human behavior. Being consistent in the beliefs you profess, adhering to internally held principles, and so on — that's not common, and it is not expected human behavior.” 

“I came here to do exactly that,” Looker says, irritation at this older man’s condescension sneaking into his voice and raising its pitch to a brittle snap. “But it seems that your friend Peony has nothing more to say to me!” 

A frown creases Brandon’s face. He folds his arms across his chest.

“I… apologize.” Looker mumbles.

The explorer’s frown grows deeper. “Forgive the trite expression, but you never know what a man is going through until you walk a mile in his shoes.” 

“Yes, of course I understand that,” the detective retorts irritably. Suddenly this man is being VERY talkative and it irritates him even more. “Everyone has hardships. Does that make it right for him to laugh my concerns off? Does Peony not owe it to his only daughter to make this a world that she can live safely in?”

The picture of Peony, his wife, and their smiling daughters flashed briefly into Looker’s mind. 

“... does she not DESERVE that, after everything that she has experienced so far!?”

From in front of the burning fire in the middle of the living room, Peony’s crouched over figure mumbles, “You should go.” 

Looker is about to argue, but thinks better of it. “All right.” 

He turns back.

“But if you should change your mind —“

Peony heaves a sigh. 

“... Just go, boss.”  
  


* * *

  
After he had gone to visit the Trainers’ Academy, Chairman Rose took the young Leon that night in his convertible limousine to one of the finest restaurants in Wyndon, and the schoolboy gobbled every dish placed down in front of him down with an alarming ferocity. One would think he was afraid that his meal was liable to up and vanish at any moment. To Rose, who had not had a very difficult life thus far (save his petty troubles with his younger brother), found this behavior of Leon’s endlessly amusing, and watched him with a keen fascination.

Rose liked to see that Leon enjoyed the food. This restaurant was his favorite in the city, and specialized in homestyle meals with an elegant twist. 

Even so, the Chairman tried to not watch him _too_ closely. Leon’s eyes had a keen habit of noticing when someone was watching him. But occasionally throughout the meal, Rose couldn’t help himself, and he found himself staring intently at the boy and his lack of table manners. 

He chastised himself. _That’s right. Leon has a little brother at home. He must have to share all of his food with him. No doubt the family is struggling to put him through school._

The Trainer’s Academy in Galar had a steep tuition fee, and though Rose was a generous man, he rarely gave anything away for free. 

Once Leon had polished off two plates of creamy tomato pasta piled up into the shape of a Yamper, and he was halfway through his caramel sundae, he asked: “So, you’re the one who pays for everything at the Trainer’s Academy?” 

Rose nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“It must cost a lot. Everything at school costs a lot.”

“It does cost quite a pretty penny, young Leon.”

“Do you have a lot of money?”

“Haha, well, I suppose you could say that.”

“Why are you being SO nice to me?” 

The heartfelt sincerity in Rose’s voice surprised even himself. “Because I believe that everyone needs a hero, young Leon.”

“A hero?” the boy asked, a puzzled look on his face. He wiped some caramel sauce from his mouth. 

Rose elegantly twirled a forkful of carbonara on his plate and lifted the fork into his mouth. “That’s right, young Leon. A hero. Someone to aspire to be. Tell me, what do you think about the concept of fate?”

“Fate?” he asked, not understanding. The ambient music in the restaurant quickened. Soft and light sounds of the piano like twinkling stars could be heard in between the rambling notes of the jazz music. 

Rose clarified, “Fate. Destiny. _Kismet._ The belief that everything happens in this world for a reason.”

Leon scrubbed off the rest of the caramel sauce from the sundae with his napkin. “You mean, life has a plan for us? Stuff like that… _it’s only in fairytales,_ isn’t it?”

Rose shook his head. “No, it is not. The stars decide our fate, even before we are born. Such a concept does not exist only in books!”

But Leon’s face became sullen again. “My life sucks. You think whoever’s up there wants it to be like that?”

Rose shook his head. “I do not think fate has decreed that you should suffer. If you would allow me to offer my opinion, young Leon, I believe people want to feel like they are on the winning team. That is why they pick on you and your little brother. Those at the top of your class have decided they hate you for one reason or another, and so the other students have turned against you, so they may feel like they are on their side. If someone can offer that feeling of superiority to a person successfully, it does not matter what their plans are, they will succeed in life.”

He then frowned. “Human beings may be intelligent, but when you get us into groups of millions you can really see exactly the ways we are more similar to primitive beings than we'd like to believe.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Leon asked.

“What does this have to do with you, young Leon? Very good question. Well, we can use this power to our advantage.” Rose then explained, “If you are at the top, there is nothing in this world that is not within reach. Life will be your Cloyster. Does that not sound magnificent to you? If you were powerful enough, you could have any person and any thing you wanted.”

“I don’t believe it,” he said. 

Promptly, the older man asked, “Well! What would you like to happen? I don’t like to boast, but if it is within my power, I will try to make it happen for you. As you said, I do have a sizable amount of money, and a fair bit of influence in the Galar region.”

The boy thought about this for a long while. 

After he looked down at the fine linen tablecloth, Leon’s eyes narrowed into hard yellow slits. “I hate going to that bloody school. Everyone bullies me and my brother. It’s okay for me, because I can take it fine, but Hop’s only a little kid,” the boy said. “He’s a crybaby. He doesn’t have a thick skin like I do.” 

He then scowled at his reflection in the crystal of his sundae glass. “I hate those kids. I wish they’d all disappear.”

“... Why, I could do that for you.”

Leon looked up. “Huh?”

Rose latticed his fingers together, considering what Leon had said. “Hmm. What if I told you…” 

Separating his hands, he turned one of his palms over, wiggled his fingers, and then closed this hand into a fist. 

“... I could make the school disappear? Forever, if you wished it?”

The boy’s eyes brightened, and for a brief moment, Rose could see a glimmer of childlike wonder inside them. “You’d do that?” 

But then he was wary again. “Why?” 

“Why, just because I want to, young Leon. I see a great amount of talent in you, and an unmistakable hunger to do whatever it takes to achieve your goals. Those qualities cannot simply be replicated in any one person.”

The Chairman leaned forward over the table. “I believe we should work together.”

Rose then dabbed his mouth with a napkin, leaving a faint tomato red imprint left on the paper. 

“Your life’s not quite so bad, am I correct, young Leon? It’s just barely enough, but it’s not enough to drive you to despair. But the things you want… they’re just out of reach….”

He crossed his fingers together. “What I am offering you is, Leon, a sponsorship for this year’s Gym Challenge.”

From the boy’s now bolt-upright posture, Rose could see immediately that Leon wanted this very much, and continued:

“It would make all your family’s worries disappear. Under the condition that you would do exactly as I say, young Leon. But consider this: if you should accept my offer, your poor, long-suffering mother wouldn’t have to pay another Galarian pound out of her thin pockets for your schooling, and you and your little brother would never have to go to that evil school again.”

The energetic _bossa nova_ music playing from the overhead speakers shifted into a dreamy and soft piano piece. “What do you say? I can give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.” 

The Chairman met Leon’s eyes then. “... would you want that?” 

Unflinchingly, Leon responded, “More than anything in the whole wide world.” 

_Exactly as he had hoped._ In response, Rose clapped his hands together merrily. “Hmm, yes. Very good! Now, we’ll have to get you a new Gym uniform, and some more party members for your Pokémon team. Say, what do you think a good catchphrase would be for your reign as Champion?” 

The young boy considered the question, then said, grinning, “Let’s have a Champion time…?!” 

Leon lost his temporary cheer. “Sounds bloody stupid, doesn’t it.”

But Rose only smiled. Smiled as he often did. 

“... You have plenty of time to think about it,” he said, and asked for the cheque.  
  


* * *

  
About an hour and a half after Det. Looker has left, Peony’s daughter stumbles down the stairs, blinking back tears of sleep. “Is that weird policeman gone….?” she asks. 

Peony grins wide. “Yeah, Nia. Everything’s OK now. Don’t you worry about a thing!” 

Nia’s face twists up into a skeptical frown. 

“Dad, are you in some kind of trouble?”

Peony laughs. “What, your dad? Never! Swear on Mum.”

Nia’s face immediately becomes downcast, and Peony could hit himself over the head with one of the cast iron flying pans in the cupboard.

 _Stupid. Why’d I mention Mum?_

Attempting to change the subject, Peony then pipes up, “I think Mister Brandon’s up for finishing his story, if you wanna hear it?” 

Her face reddening, Nia stammers hastily, “Ha! You and your weird old explorer friends and your weird old lame stories! No _thanks,_ Dad. Hard pass.” 

She closes the door to her room without another word. Emotional crisis status: averted. 

The older explorer sighs and removes his helmet. “Phew…” 

Peony turns to Brandon, who had been sitting at the table, and claps him on the back heartily. “You put her right to sleep, huh? Good man! You should do story time for little kids. Bet your old stories are better than warm milk and a heavy blanket.” 

Brandon tries not to look offended, but fails. He sighs, “Not on account of trying. Your daughter fell asleep just as I got into the best part of the adventure with Regigigas.”

The Hoenn archaeologist then gets up from his seat and pours himself a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker and takes a sip. But it’s not good and he empties the contents of the mug in the kitchenette sink.

“So, a detective from the International Police was here? Whatever for?” Brandon asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his tan hand.

Peony groans. “Yeah. Was asking about Rose.” 

The younger man raises an eyebrow. “Your little brother?” 

_“Older_ brother,” Peony clarifies, but he couldn’t fault the man for thinking so. It didn’t really seem like Rose was older than him at times. Sometimes even HE forgot he and the Chairman were related. Peony leans back in the chair and the wood creaks under his weight. “What a total pain in my rear… Didn’t know the cops would come all the way out into the boonies to talk to some washed up hasbeen. Guess they must be really hard up for clues.” 

“I find it very odd you couldn’t help more,” Brandon says, his mouth twisted up into a troubled frown. “You could put this whole matter to bed if you contacted Rose and asked him to clarify his actions.” Even though the younger explorer hadn’t said it outright, the implied meaning behind the famous archaeologist’s words were clear: _Don’t you think you’re being irresponsible by not contacting your brother, Chairman Rose, while trainers go missing in Galar’s capital?_

“Hah! I’ll pass, thanks very much, mate. What’m I supposed to say, anywho?“ Peony says, taking a swig of milky coffee and screwing the lid back on the thermos. “That detective from the International Police was already here… I told him whatever I could.” 

Brandon snorts, “... you hardly told him anything.”

“That’s because I couldn’t _say_ anything,” Peony mutters, his grip on the ceramic mug growing tighter and stretching the skin on his brown knuckles taut.

“Why not?” 

Peony slams his hands down on the table, causing the tableware to jump a few inches into the air, landing soon moments later with a shaky wobble. 

“Because I have to PROTECT my daughter, Brandon! I dunno what I’d do if something happened to Nia… something happened to her because I got on Rose’s bad side! You don’t know him like I do: my older brother doesn’t care about anybody besides himself! And nobody in my family’s left, ‘sides Nia…” 

“If something happened to her… something I could’ve stopped from happening… I…” 

Peony puts his head in his hands. “I… I dunno what I'd do.” 

The older explorer attempts to compose himself by taking two deep breaths. 

“If... you had kids, chief, you’d understand.”

Brandon only purses his lips. “Hm.”

The two men watch the flickering hearth in the center of the house. The comforting sound of the crackling fire interspersed with the soft snores of Nia can be heard faintly. 

“...I may not have any children, Peony, but that detective’s coming here means the situation in Wyndon is worse than you thought,” Brandon finally says, his dark eyes tracking the red-yellow sparks tossing into the air.

Peony laughs bitterly. “If it’s Rose, ‘course it’s worse than I thought! But what can I do about it? I’m his little brother, not a superhero.” 

What _could_ he do about it? Even if Peony had been more inclined to help, it wasn’t as if the Chairman’s younger brother could’ve said anything helpful to the strange detective. The public perception of Rose was the complete opposite of a villain. The Chairman of the Pokémon League lived a day to day life that was defined by low conflict, a sense of peace, and general helpfulness to others. He donated excess profits from the corporations he owned to charity. He lent some of his Pokémon to help environmental cleanup efforts. He adopted sick and orphaned children and raised them as his own. 

To the world at large, Rose and Leon are nothing less than saints. 

“Perhaps I’ve misunderstood your relationship with your brother,” Brandon says with a shrug of his shoulders. After taking a seat at the small table, he then retrieves a stainless steel flask from the pocket at his hip, and takes a hearty swig of the brandy within it. He pounds his chest and clears his throat. “People commonly say blood runs thicker than water, but perhaps… having a family’s more trouble than it’s worth, eh?” 

The older explorer is now silent. 

Pounding his thigh with one hand, Peony guffaws, 

“....whatever you say, chief! Sometimes those complicated words of yours fly right over this old coot’s head.” 

To which the younger man grumbles, “You are being deliberately obtuse, Peony.”

But the older man only scratches his head. “Huh? _Obtuse?_ C’mon, Brandon, you know I’m shite at maths.”

This remark elicits a startled laugh from Brandon. Whether the sound is genuine or forced, however, Peony can’t say. 

“Your daughter will start asking questions about Chairman Rose. You must be aware of that, at least.”

Peony heaves a long and drawn out sigh. “She already has, chief.” 

Brandon stands up and checks the equipment in his traveling backpack. While the younger explorer rummages through his things, he says: “...I’m not surprised. It’s natural for a young woman her age to be curious about a relative she’s never met.” 

What he meant to say was: _“You can’t protect her forever.”_

Deciding he would prefer not to start an argument with Brandon on the topic (the man could be astonishingly bullheaded when prompted), the older explorer laughs him off. “Haha…! Stubborn as a damn Mudbray, my little girl. I guess ‘we don’t talk anymore’ wasn’t cutting it for her, huh?” 

Without turning around, Brandon says, “If we can make sense of a person and their actions, they seem less frightening to us. If we can’t understand something, the world can feel unsafe and unpredictable. Human beings hate feeling out of control. When that happens, we experience anxiety and insecurity.” At Peony’s baffled expression, Brandon explains, “My point is this: we ALL want the world to make sense, and your daughter is no exception to that.” 

Peony frowns. “So she’s looking for answers too, huh…”

Brandon nods. 

“And you owe it to her to be honest about them.” 

Peony laughs. “Man, I can’t _believe_ I’m being schooled by a man who’s a decade younger than me in life lessons… Don’t you think you should respect your elders a little more, chief?” 

Indignant, Brandon scoffs, “No! On the contrary! I DO very much respect you, which is why I’m telling you this plainly, Peony.” 

As the younger explorer heads outside again into the tundra forest to gather more firewood for the hearth, the detective’s words eat at Peony. His olive green eyes dart over to the sleeping form of Nia and remain there. 

_Do you not owe it to your daughter to make this a world where she can live without fear? Does she not DESERVE that, after everything she’s been through!?_

Pained, Peony clutches at the sides of his close-shaven head. He knows Nia deserves that, she deserves all that and much, much more. It was idiotic to think he could protect her for much longer. Nia was already asking questions about the world outside the tundra; it was only a matter of time before he would find her bed empty, the house deserted, save for Peony and the occasional house-guest. 

It was only a matter of time until he couldn’t protect his daughter anymore. 

“.... maybe after all these years, Rose’s had a change of heart,” Peony mumbles, feeling the warmth of the crackling fire lull him into the comforting embrace of sleep. “Maybe after all these years… he’s changed.”

But as he nods off, the temporary optimism that Peony had indulged in begins to fade. 

Because a darkened heart doesn't heal itself.

It festers away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> 1\. This Brandon isn’t his Emerald-verse incarnation like Anabel, instead hailing from ORAS-verse. (Guess who’s been playing Emerald over?). 
> 
> He’s still a famous archaeologist/explorer and Scott hasn’t shanghaied him into working at the Battle Frontier yet, which is why I don’t refer to him as the Pyramid King.


End file.
